by Corey D. Cook
Nana sits at the kitchen table shucking corn.
Her leathery face sprouting from faded overalls.
Intently watches her favorite soap on the portable tv
as she drops husks into a metal bowl between her feet.
Husks I soon bring to the pigs in the back yard.
Their flat snouts lined up over the long trough.
When I walk back into the house
a male star has been stripped of his shirt.
His heaving chest is chiseled and glistening.
Nana stares at the screen and her mouth hangs open.
Moments later she mumbles,
"I’d gladly scrub my clothes on that washboard."
Copyright © 2020 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.