O, blonde headed, wrong headed
little green worm
curled in my ear
of fresh, sweet corn,
we greet, meet eachother.
You, having eaten
the top kernels and me
ready to shuck and silk
and boil the ear. But
not you, Sir Worm, not
you.
I remember a dinner in Denmark.
A vegan friend who bought
slices of Danish ham
for “her American friends.”
How a yellow bee from
the grape arbor above us,
descended on the ham
and began to lick or nibble
or do what bees do to feed
themselves. “Do you mind?”
our hostess asked as we waited,
watched. “They eat so little.”
We didn’t mind then and now,
years later, I say Sir Worm,
“You ate so little.”
© by Ruth Moose.
Used with the author’s permission.
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