Jara told me things would be better now. She smiled and smoothed over my hair in that motherly way. I held on to her for a minute longer, squeezing tightly as I did. Outside the sun was rising behind a sheet of grey clouds bringing the promise of a days work on the farm.
“He’ll make it better. He has to,” she said. I didn’t put stock in politicians. The one before him changed everything for the worse. He made us pay more money to the government for healthcare we didn’t have the time nor patience to use. Beyond that he was different. Everybody outside our country liked him and thought it was such a great thing that we made a black man president. But what did a black man know about life out here in Iowa? What did he have to say to us? He was just another politician with lies and a smart mouth. He was just like that lady they tried to prop up on us all ready like her destiny was to lead things. She didn’t know nothing about us neither. No, I was going with the other guy. He might be a son of a bitch, but at least he was our son of a bitch.
I sighed and let go of Jara. I put on my jacket and headed out into the dust and dirt of a too dry summer. The corn we grew mostly went to ethanol. Two farms over Monsanto pushed out thousands of bushels of edible corn, but we couldn’t sell ours like that. It was too high risk. Every morning I had to walk the fields to make sure no Monsanto seeds blew into our fields. They’d taken down old Hank a few years back for him growing their seeds. They had a patent on those seeds, which was pure nonsense in my mind. Seeds fall where the winds blow them, and if you let them grow there, well, you’ve just broken some sort of corporate law and it could cost you everything.