a poem in my pocket

 

Magnificent

member of

most basic

food group;

venerated

versatile

starch to

fill bellies,

fuel for

farm work;

 

enjoyed

raw… like

an apple –

aardappel,

pomme

de terre

…or

baked

(twice),

boiled,

mashed,

scalloped,

broasted,

hashed

and

browned;

 

Favorite

fast food

fried so

French; first

proffered in

Paris by

push-cart

vendors

and now

featured

at McD’s

“fine dining”.

 

I say

“potato”,

you say

“patata”,

you say

“tuber”

I say

“spud”…

derived

from the

simple spade

…and the

Society for the

Prevention of

Unwholesome

Diet  (!?)

-19th century,

(Great Britain).

 

Not sanctioned

by church,

degenerate

delicacy

thought

unbiblical

(with no cross

references)

until

sprinkled

with

“holy water”;

now just

sprinkled

liberally

with

salt.

 

A famine

of this

humble root

forever

changed the

histories

of two nations

transforming

lives of

immigrants,

and

indigenous

alike,

by laying rails

across

a continent.

 

So what

do you

think,

Mr. Potato

Head?

Is this

just a

wild

truffle?

I think not.

It’s no

small

potatoes!