They scamper and roam
amid towering green stalks
shucking husks and silks
from bursting fat ears.
The skinny ones
stripped and left hanging.
Black crows fly down
peck the raccoons heads;
and they growl, show fangs,
stand up tall and straight
like trained fighters.
They're hungry mean critters
on a mission to eat and
get what they feel is theirs.
Ducking in and out foliage
hiding at the sound of hustling winds
playing hide and seek
with the blessings of nature.
They creep,
in sneaky moves,
scouring row after row,
guarding their claimed cache.
Faces and beaks drip in a milky residue,
remnants of broken stalks and husks
lie scattered about the rows.
Bellies bulge,
the high noon
calls time-out,
disappearing
into their nests and dens
until it's time to raid
the cornfields again.
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