Butters Drippin From My Elbows

Butters Drippin’ From My Ears Summer’s mostly over I’ve not once mentioned Iowa corn. It’s the symbol of the state In which this rhymer’s born. There are other places That grows passable “sweet” corn. I’ve eaten several others But my druthers always torn. In dead of winters dreary days And it’s all the markets got That “shipped in” product May pacify the corn longing spot. But when Iowa summer’s here Weathers so hot & steamy. There’s nothing like fresh corn With melted butter. . . so creamy. I’ve always thought eatin’ corn Was the most sensible fashion reason Hot butter drippin’ off my elbow Makes short sleeves so now in season We start dreaming of its coming As soon as local gardening starts Sweet corn & vine ripe tomatoes Are close to this old couples hearts. There are various spots to buy it Lots of small, road side venders. There are local “farmers markets” Even “organic” stores for heavy spenders. But my wife has a favorite seller So weeks early we start spying. To find that special farm fell'er Many years his ears has been buying. When she says, going out the door ”I’m going to see the little man” I know I’m in for a real corn treat. She’ll soon return with ears in hand. It’s always cool and fresh picked The husks are tight, the color bright. The ears are chuck full of kernels And almost never a bug in sight. We get them all shucked The waters now boiling But the season is short Soon there will be no more toiling. We close out the season Cut a few ears for the freezer. Soon we’ll be saying “Good-by” To this special taste “pleaser”. Written by oldbuck after another wonderful home cooked meal that included “Iowa” corn on the cob.