South Fork Poetry: The Last Ear of Corn

There is nothing lonelier looking

than a solitary ear of corn lying

on a kitchen counter all husked up

saying nothing yearning to have

its silk removed by excited 

fingers in the autumn dusk 

A tomato has that color and shine

plump with the promise of messiness 

a cucumber has that cool and feels 

no need to speak to you — not like a 

a root vegetable whose heroic soul 

has endured dirt dark and excavation

When far from the madding field 

kidnapped from the good farmer’s 

roadside stand tenement stack

600 kernels and 16 rows are not 

enough to give a singleton cob 

a sense of community

So sad so dislocated lying there

without a pillow of scallions or cover

of butter — the salt seems miles away

and totally disinterested like the French

when contemplating un epi de mais.

Would they let a leek sleep alone?

Bruce Buschel is a writer, producer, director, and restaurateur who lives in Bridgehampton.