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But

there

’

s

mildew

and

formic

acid

in

the

vats

.

Add

sulphur

and

tannic

acid

.

The

smell

from

the

ferment

is

not

the

rich

odor

of

wine

,

but

the

smell

of

decay

and

chemicals

.

Oh

,

well

.

It

has

alcohol

in

it

,

anyway

.

They

can

get

drunk

.

The

little

farmers

watched

debt

creep

up

on

them

like

the

tide

.

They

sprayed

the

trees

and

sold

no

crop

,

they

pruned

and

grafted

and

could

not

pick

the

crop

.

And

the

men

of

knowledge

have

worked

,

have

considered

,

and

the

fruit

is

rotting

on

the

ground

,

and

the

decaying

mash

in

the

wine

vat

is

poisoning

the

air

.

And

taste

the

wine

—

no

grape

flavor

at

all

,

just

sulphur

and

tannic

acid

and

alcohol

.

This

little

orchard

will

be

a

part

of

a

great

holding

next

year

,

for

the

debt

will

have

choked

the

owner

.

This

vineyard

will

belong

to

the

bank

.

Only

the

great

owners

can

survive

,

for

they

own

the

canneries

,

too

.

And

four

pears

peeled

and

cut

in

half

,

cooked

and

canned

,

still

cost

fifteen

cents

.

And

the

canned

pears

do

not

spoil

.

They

will

last

for

years

.

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The

decay

spreads

over

the

State

,

and

the

sweet

smell

is

a

great

sorrow

on

the

land

.

Men

who

can

graft

the

trees

and

make

the

seed

fertile

and

big

can

find

no

way

to

let

the

hungry

people

eat

their

produce

.

Men

who

have

created

new

fruits

in

the

world

cannot

create

a

system

whereby

their

fruits

may

be

eaten

.

And

the

failure

hangs

over

the

State

like

a

great

sorrow

.

The

works

of

the

roots

of

the

vines

,

of

the

trees

,

must

be

destroyed

to

keep

up

the

price

,

and

this

is

the

saddest

,

bitterest

thing

of

all

.

Carloads

of

oranges

dumped

on

the

ground

.

The

people

came

for

miles

to

take

the

fruit

,

but

this

could

not

be

.

How

would

they

buy

oranges

at

twenty

cents

a

dozen

if

they

could

drive

out

and

pick

them

up

?

And

men

with

hoses

squirt

kerosene

on

the

oranges

,

and

they

are

angry

at

the

crime

,

angry

at

the

people

who

have

come

to

take

the

fruit

.

A

million

people

hungry

,

needing

the

fruit

—

and

kerosene

sprayed

over

the

golden

mountains

.

And

the

smell

of

rot

fills

the

country

.

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Burn

coffee

for

fuel

in

the

ships

.

Burn

corn

to

keep

warm

,

it

makes

a

hot

fire

.

Dump

potatoes

in

the

rivers

and

place

guards

along

the

banks

to

keep

the

hungry

people

from

fishing

them

out

.

Slaughter

the

pigs

and

bury

them

,

and

let

the

putrescence

drip

down

into

the

earth

.

There

is

a

crime

here

that

goes

beyond

denunciation

.

There

is

a

sorrow

here

that

weeping

cannot

symbolize

.

There

is

a

failure

here

that

topples

all

our

success

.

The

fertile

earth

,

the

straight

tree

rows

,

the

sturdy

trunks

,

and

the

ripe

fruit

.

And

children

dying

of

pellagra

must

die

because

a

profit

cannot

be

taken

from

an

orange

.

And

coroners

must

fill

in

the

certificate

—

died

of

malnutrition

—

because

the

food

must

rot

,

must

be

forced

to

rot

.

The

people

come

with

nets

to

fish

for

potatoes

in

the

river

,

and

the

guards

hold

them

back

;

they

come

in

rattling

cars

to

get

the

dumped

oranges

,

but

the

kerosene

is

sprayed

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