Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Ode to the Potato

Your skin is like a new potato
Fine and smooth.
Your flesh - slightly pink
But sometimes you have a birthmark
Like a bruise -
Or even once,
When left discarded there,
You were a sickly shade of green.

I like to hold you
In my hand -
Wash your delicate new skin,
Caress you,
Gaze into your sightless eyes
And wonder how you feel
About the diversity of your
Gastronomical uses.

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