would send
us across the road to the cornfield,
to steal
a dozen or so ears of corn
for dinner.
the leafy stalks were over
our heads
as we reached up
to find the fattest
ones.
she had no qualms about it.
the corn
had been growing there
forever.
she had once made
love to the farmer
when they were young,
but it ended
badly.
so off we went with our
burlap sack,
crossing the road,
her staring out the window,
as the water
boiled furiously
on her stove.
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