The Price of Rice

When you work outdoors

in a Carolina summer

the sweat fills your uniform

like a dishrag.

The phone in my shirt pocket

absorbed my moisture

and stopped working.

I went to Food Lion

bought a pound of rice

the poor man’s desiccant

dumped out half the bag.

It worked.

It saved my phone.

Three dollars for a bag of rice

that someone planted, tended, and worked

probably in the hot sun.

Someone harvested, husked, dried and delivered

rice for three bucks.

Damn sight cheaper than a new phone…

***This poem appeared in the Spring 2020 edition of Blue Collar Review.