After many years I drive on this old highway,
past the carpet store’s giant Viking, still there.
Flat wide open fields where the green beans,
asparagus and potatoes grew for the factory
up ahead, to the right. I can’t tell if it’s open.
Instead, I drive by big sod farms and nurseries.
Glad to see businesses thriving here once again.
Workers are no longer the Hillbillies of the past,
no longer Puerto Ricans, Jamaicans, Japanese
and of course you won’t see Estonians either.
Time wrote about a global farming community.
Now they are from the far reaches of Mexico,
so far away a few claim they don’t even speak
Spanish, some only know Zapoteco or Nahuatl.
Maybe they sound like those actors who played
the parts in the subtitled movie, Apocalypto.
I wonder when I see the young men in the field
if they are hollering to one another in these
languages as they wrap burlap around balls of
dirt and roots of the tiny azalea bushes, the same
way I did 40 years ago at my grandfather’s nursery.