Exodus

A dented and paint-worn

red metal bucket,
half-full with water,
its spaghetti-thin handle
squeaky when lifted,
dug painfully into the fingers
of the aged man's callused hands.

His face was leather-like,
almost as wrinkly as
his stained and dirty
overalls from years of
farming.

Slightly off balance,
he struggled to tilt and fill
all he could into
the dilapidated truck's
warm radiator
without spilling a drop,
praying silently it
would get him and his family to
California
100 miles further on
Route 66.

People spoke of
jobs
plenty of them
far from dust-soaked air,
from degradation
and poverty.

Halfway there,
the dream ended in
steam that rose to heaven
like smoke signals
for help.

"Jesus saves,"
read a nearby billboard.

With hope and persistence,
feeling as rotten
as parched soil
and a lump in his belly
as big as Oklahoma,

no one prayed more
to Jesus that night
than an aged man
with callused
dry hands.

Author's Note

I don't know about this. Posted for now.
Depression era.

Reviews

[Fia Naturie]

Very sad, so if I felt it you hit your mark. People spoke of jobs but are there really any to be had? That is a nice spill. Fia xoxo

[Relic]

Thanks so much for your comment, Fia. :)

[DIVYA]

"with hope and persistence
feeling as rotten
as parched soil
and a lump in his belly
as big as Oklahoma "

His pain can be felt in the strong, stark imagery of despair. At an age when he should be comfortable and settled and retired, he still struggles for his life. The Depression was a very dark time, indeed. So many were destroyed and their prayers unheard.

A powerful and moving portrayal!

[Relic]

Thanks for the comment, Divya. :)