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Land changes.

Every day, as we lugged tobacco down rows brightly lit with sun, the hot sand kept stinging our bare feet like fire ants, the field hummed with bees. We would pause, then straighten our backs, and stare at elms rubbing together insistent as the legs of lovers. We whispered, "Listen to that. Just listen," while breathing the gold August air.

Twenty years later, a shopping mall blazes in the sun where we lugged tobacco in boyhood; and a parking lot lies over rotted tobacco stalks. The asphalt wavers with heat waves, hundreds of parked cars glisten like a aluminum boxes glazed with ice. And there are no trees.
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Title Annotation:Section 3: Sayings, Sermons, Tall Tales, and Lies - Contemporary Black Poetry; poem
Author:Moore, Lenard D.
Publication:African American Review
Date:Mar 22, 1993
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