He held the corn cob in the air
pointing with his arm to say,
"Ma's gone up there
to use the phone."
and marked the cob by lay of thumb
as where roots of a tree might have begun
if standing in the field that spread up there.
"I like my trees
close round a home."
and drew the cob back to his chair.
He looked me squarely up and down
as if a tree shucked and bare.
"Ma'll be round
someday soon, but . . ."
So I began to leave him there.
He looked back out on the field
then threw his cob on out up there.
"I ain't Pa
and she ain't Ma, but . . ."
(as if the cob bayed like hounds)
"it'll be alright."