harvest of ears

There were four ears of corn in there, 
and I took: the best and the worst, 
and I ate the best first. 
The one who put them in knew just 
what I'd done: I left them two pretty, 
good middle-best ones. Which 
to judge by the praise (self-compliments,
chef!) were pretty damn good 
by standards we mess (which are pretty 
damn high, at that).

If I had instead took the two worst ears,
what then? The chef would feel like
a scumbag, dude. Putting out bad corn
to make me choose - knowing what
a hot altruist martyr I am? Born to bet
it all, sacrifice and lose!

I'd have to be an asshole to pull that move. 

If I took the very two best ears, though
- ow. That doesn't say much about them, 
somehow, or about how I feel. So: 

I flattened the bell. Took the best 
with the worst and I chowed down well. 

That best ear was reward,
like I knew it would be.

The worst? Was okay, good surprisingly.
My snaggle-tooth gap kernel buddy o' mine!
It salted up buttersweet juicy and fine, and 

it occurs to me I could have took: middle two. 

Not my fault. That's just not something I'd 
have thought to do. Anyway, what! I'd never 
inflict the worst! 

Unless I'd tried it out and found how good first.