Spud Piece

You enter the room

there are two chairs

one has a potato

you sit next to that one

you don’t happen to know,

what it’s for, how it’s this

Phenomenon (but just before

you said that; I stopped you).

The potato is alive.

no boo - not in the realm

of the Possessed, you just know

the vibe a living thing has.

But the truth is, the potato,

it’s me. I wish I was only

aloo-ding to a piece of fried me.

But i’m just a spotty spud.

Roundabout Truths

If we can – freely –

admit to ourselves that the

Underprivileged automatically

lead more virtuous lives

and the righteous follow in file:

then we might suspend this

acting out we do in difficult ways;

misdirected (almost) always

on unsuspecting souls & elbows

[it’s a privilege to be unlovable]

Then we might even find ways

to answer the oldest question ever posed

How to pass the time? This time, with fewer scars;

who knows? We might even make ourselves

useful.

There’s virtue in being useful; mostly
it’s honest and has constructive results -

- usually. When I sit with my grandma a while

I feel I have been of some use.

And I pat my own deserving back for it.