--I WANNA GO DIVING, GET STRUCK BY LIGHTNING 

 

Harvest

It was a pretty good year for harvesting children, torsos having grown plump and sturdy as watermelons, their hair unruly leaves of kale, their mouths full of rich soil seeded with cukes and spuds and pea pods about to poke through.

Each wagon was loaded to overflowing, tires nearly going flat as they caromed over the rutted road, the babies bouncing with each divot struck, some of them bewildered, some of them gurgling as the factory loomed up ahead and the masked men unshouldered their machetes.