her barn full of hay

our grandmother

in North Reading,

would

send us across the road

to steal

ears of corn for dinner.

we'd cross

the vacant stretch of dirt

and gravel

with our baskets and snatch

the ears

right off the stalks

which towered over us,

then scurry back,

gleeful at our theft.

she said she knew the

farmer and his wife

which made

everything okay. 

years later we found out

that she was sleeping

with farmer Joe,

which explained everything.

the cherry pie on the table

half gone,

her barn full of hay

and the jug of milk

now cold.

it was our first encounter

with bartering for goods.