The Great Depression

The dusty road.
Feet frozen in time, bags thrown over shoulders,
Hunger.  Exhaustion.
"Next time, take the train," the sign says.
There will be a next time.
And another.
The fields have blown away.
There will be no work in California.
But what to do,
But walk from place to place,
In best suits and hats,
Dust-covered?
What to do but try?