Buttered Corn Poem by Kim Barney

My aunt and uncle's mailing address
Was in Auburn, Wyoming
But they actually lived just across
The border in Idaho.

We went to visit them once
When I was just a lad,
My sister and two brothers
With my mom and dad.

My two younger sisters
Had not yet been born
And we got into trouble
Over buttered corn.

They served us hot corn on the cob
And boy, did it taste great!
We slathered on the butter;
It made pools on our plates.

We also freely sprinkled salt
Because we loved the taste.
We gave our dad cause to find fault
Because of our great waste.

My father got quite angry
But didn't say a word,
That is, until much later
When he could not be heard
By my poor aunt and uncle.

He scolded us quite firmly
And made us feel ashamed.
Because we were so wasteful
We really should be blamed.

As punishment he told us
That never, never more
Could we put butter on our corn.
Now wait- -there is yet more:
Salt was forbidden, too.
From joyous pigs an hour before,
We now were feeling blue.

This new edict caused us to mutter.
How could we live without our butter?
And so we did devise a plan
We thought just might fool our Old Man.

We were still allowed
To put butter on our bread
And so we did
And slightly thicker than usual
But not so much
That Dad would notice (we hoped)
And then when he wasn't looking
We would roll the cob of corn
Across the slice of bread.

I don't remember now
If we got caught doing this
Or if I just got tired
Of trying to fool him
But I did stop doing it
And to this day
More than sixty years later
I do not put salt
Or butter on my corn.
I actually like it that way.