Poetry
by Serena Piccoli
The sun kisses the prettiest.
It’s an Italian saying
he says.
3 euros per hour, 12 hours per day
The red-gold burning in his ears
between the toes, up the ass
Picking tomatoes 7 days a week
bent and burnt
crashing in the shack with a stroke.
The red-mud boss’ boots
pushed him down the creek at noon
before stripping his poor pendant.
The sun kisses the prettiest.
Lucky you
he said.
Appeared in Issue Spring '21
Nationality: Italian
First Language(s): Italian
Second Language(s):
English,
French
Das Land Steiermark
Listen to Serena Piccoli reading "The sun kisses the prettiest".
Supported by:
