Steamy Corn

Mama landed a platter
of sweet summer corn
on our worn table,
her sunburnt brow

catching the moisture
from the steamy barrels
of yellow and white,
fresh from the boiling

water that swirled in
her old metal pot.
Baby clapped her doughy
hands, mashed sweet potato

stuck to her face like mud
spatters, bowed heads
blessed our homegrown
bounty. When Daddy

grabbed an ear of corn, he
twirled it in butter, coating
each kernel. He paused,
making a funny face for me.

Instantly, his corn became
part of an imaginary
typewriter. Daddy quickly
ate a row until he came to

the end, greasy kernels on
his face. “Ding! Ding!”,
he said smiling, ready for the
next row. I couldn’t wait to try.

I twirled my corn, nibbled at the
buttery goodness, greasy kernels
on my messy face. SO MUCH
FUN! “Ding! Ding!”