Crowds of young corn stretch up from the Goadby Road
flex muscles, rove; so male

that I am surprised in July time, when I grab a head, shuck
the husks and suck the rubbery germ,

to find pale green parts, soft and feminine,
nestle the palm of my hand.

Later, a mouthful of dry gold grains
winnowed by my forefinger, turns

when chewed, to a glistening wad of stringy gum
pliant in the angles of mouth and tongue.

August, a baler eats across bleached acres,
easing now and then to lay an egg.