Here in Muck City,
We grow cane
And pro footballers,
Which is pretty much
All you need know-
that, and
I was never much good at football.
So I work the fields,
Keep the boy fed
And my wife
(mostly) happy

From October to April,
The air turns foul
And ash rains down
That’s when we flame the crop.
But I tell ya’,
May to September
I can still smell those damed fires...
The smoke, it stays with you
We burn through the generations down here,
Like father, like son
See, he was never much good at football, neither

Can’t always get my head around it:
This is how I’ll see through the years.
There’s honor in these callused hands
–I know that...
Just thought I’d beat the cane.
Maybe there was something else
I coulda’ done.
The wife rolls her eyes when I say that.
The boy, too.
Let’s just see next year
If he makes the team

Ezy Reading is out every month.