Monday, December 27, 2010


"At noon the tractor driver stopped
sometimes near a tenant house
and opened his lunch...

...They watched hungrily the unwrapping of the sandwiches,
and their hunger-sharpened noses smelled the pickle,
and Spam.

They didn't speak to the driver.
They watched his hand as it carried food to his mouth. "

from Grapes of Wrath, page 49-50.