Dave Bonta's "Trader" is only five short lines, but it moves from the whole world to a single patch of ground. In the first two lines, a collective "we" sends ships to China and makes "the globe pay." The tone is bold, even a little grasping, as if the world were something to be squeezed for profit.
Then the poem shifts. The speaker is "returned to my corn," a small, personal, rooted image. There, the speaker knocks on the ground six times. The poem doesn't say why, so we have to guess. It could be a superstitious gesture, like knocking on wood for luck, or a way of checking in with the earth after all that reaching outward. Judging by the contrast, it might also suggest uneasiness, a wish to be sure the ground is still solid.
The mood is quiet and a little uncertain. Big commercial ambition sits next to a humble, almost ritual act, and the poem leaves us wondering which one the speaker truly trusts.