The Corn Crib
ŚMaizeą our auntie Bess called it then
Śsweet corną in todayąs shops
the stalks grew tall, cobs turned gold.
Harvested, they nearly filled the high
wire-netting cage on tree-stump stilts, safe from
birdsą beaks above, ratsą teeth below.
Climb up, dears, see the metal handle?
Take a cob, insert it in the metal mouth,
press down, the metal teeth engage.
The handle turns, the cob twists down,
Golden morsels fly out, heavy rain
filling the chipped enamel basin.
Off with it now to the chook-yard.
Donąt they love it! Clucking
and pecking, the chooks would turn
maize into eggs with golden yolks,
except the one noisy bossy rooster -
what use was he? Uncle Will wouldnąt say.
Auntie taught us all manner of work,
in charge of house, garden, the car, us
step out of line, weąd be sent home quick smart.
Big sister was stronger and faster
if I worked longer Iąd match her work.
All summer we toiled in the corn crib.
Max Richards
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