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Retrieved 10/21/2007

I AM WEEDPATCH KID

I am barefoot and poor

I travel the “Mother Road”

I hear the rhythm of a thousand hands picking crops

I see the ripened fields of southern California

I crave nourishment for the body and soul

I am barefoot and poor

I pretend not to hear the painful jests

I try not to feel the shame of “Okie”

I touch the bodies of hundreds sleeping fitfully, crammed against me in our steamy tent

I worry for my exhausted parents toiling from dawn to dark

I cry from fatigue and frustration

I am barefoot and poor

I understand the hunger of body and soul

I brag that I live in “Hooverville” but

I dream of shoes and a bath tub and a room of my own

I long for fresh fruit, platters of fried chicken and luscious chocolate cake

I hope my teacher will not slam her ruler against my bruised knuckles again for

I am barefoot and poor

Betsy Baldwin