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Corn on the Cob
We drove along the secondary streets of Iowa,
Towards my grandparents’ large farm.
How excited we felt for this seemed like a yearly pilgrimage
To visit my old folks back home.
I always loved summertime with my grandparents.
Though I knew they worked hard, poor fellers.
I noticed grandpa and his group of hired men
Moving here and there like ants among the stalks
Of the corn that grew in our large fields.
Trimmers in hand, all would prune the suckers
And saw how tall they would grow, larger than me.
How grand it was to explore the countryside,
Making friends with Daisy, who lived nearby.
There we discovered a clump of oak trees
And a clean small lake that irrigated our land.
Swimming was a must and so was kissing.
I was madly in love with my friend as I dreaded
The day when I would have to leave her to go back home.
Meanwhile the cob was soon covered with smooth kernels.
And harvesting began which meant it was the end of summer.
But before I was to return home, grandma promised a treat:
She brought in some corn on the cob and inserted in each
A skewer, then grilled the cobs. Out they came piping hot.
Grandma spread generous butter on one and added salt.
What can I say? It was divine. And I wanted more….
Thus, we arrived after a long time, so full of glee and anticipation.
Daisy jumped first out of the car and rushed inside.
No one was going to make her miss her favourite dish,
A grilled corn on the cob. No doubt I followed suit.
Copyright ©
Victor Buhagiar
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