Things a potato knows,
drool and spit,
the looks it gets,
either happy or bummed,
grossed out or yum!
It feels mashed, or caked,
fried or baked,
boiled,
saladed,
souped,
chipped,
to tatter totted,
skinned or roasted,
hash browned and toasted,
It fears the hungry,
the potato lovers,
the I wants,
and give-mes,
the moist damp feel,
of an “open wide” mouth,
baring the looks, it cannot,
from the children,
to the parents,
to Grandma and Pa,
It learns how it feels
to be boiled or roasted,
baked and toasted,
a sizzling,
grizzling,
drizzling,
sensation of being,
mashed or caked,
fried or baked,
It learns how to give
that roughed up look,
that bruises-all-over,
“ya don’t wanna buy me” look,
how to avoid getting
caked,
beaten,
boiled,
and eaten,
by the giants of the world,
the big, bad,
food-eating giants,
who bake,
cake,
toast,
roast,
cook in a pot,
tater tot,
poor,
defenseless potatoes,
Things a potato knows.