Cornfield Sex Adventure Poem

Cornfield Sex Adventure

waiting to be husked

like an ear of ripened corn

trembling on the stalk,

green gowned and golden,

tassles shaking,

teasing me.

“Come here, bee,” sweetcorn says,

a pollination proposition

and me, a bee with honeyed stinger

buzzing at the thought

of spreading a little magic dust,

only –

puzzled,

flying in circles,

(not knowing that its impossible for bees to fly

according to physicists at Newton’s knee)

Where the hell is the flower ?

.

Grammarians, poets, philosophers:

Which is worse –

a broken metaphor

or a lost chance at

a first shuck?

©Charles Elledge2008