A poem about potatoes

The sun is a prom potato, baked in the embers of a campfire.
But if you want to bake the sun for real, an oven will do.
It’s the same old scene, since 1916…
The mahogany potato of justice simply wasn’t enough to prevent war.
Twas a nobel potato to be sure,
But a little condescending.
I feasted on justice potatoes that night.
Justice potatoes taste a lot like revenge potatoes.
I ate them all but still had far too many left.


Ah it’s a long stretch of road through these woods, damp and dusky. She don’t want to be on that road, no siree, she wants to be playing cards with her friends at the back of the schoolyard, dealing out hearts and clubs and gossip. But her aunt needs her books and so she goes, trudging down the dirt path all them feet have worn thin.

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Needs revision, just throwing this up here for later editing!

Beginnings are always awkward.

This was practically engraved on the door of the copy editor’s office.
She was so certain of this fact that she found it almost useless to try to correct an awkward beginning in the manuscripts she read. She sighed as she started another manuscript and cringed as she found this one actually had the audacity to start with simply the word “hello”.

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A new short story in progress! Will probably undergo some edits.

The Community is about 500 people strong. Deafness is prevalent. So is lung cancer. So is depression. It’s hard to say if depression is more prevalent among those dying than among the relatively healthy. A mournful sorrow has settled over all the people like the dust, like the dirt and the starvation. You have to measure above that, or call the prevalence of depression 100%.

A quarter of them make the five mile trek to the launch site every week to collect supplies. The spaceships soar into the sky at five hour intervals, arcing into the heavens and disappearing into unknown worlds. The refugees stand at the chain link fence, fingers intertwining the metal, the dust covering them uniformly. Men, women, children. Almost indistinguishable, but for the relative differences in size. Some days there are no supplies to give them. They stay until nightfall before taking the trek back. The sickest stay behind to be buried by The Caregivers at the launch site.  The line of passengers does not give up its steady march, nobody turns to look at them. Eventually the dead and dying are taken inside.

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It’s the pedantry pageantry
You lay out your voice all evenly
Romp romp romp
But I know what you’re going to say
Oh such high flying thoughts
On wings too heavy to lift off the ground
And you’ve measured out the right amount
Of wit in tablespoons
And originality in a half cup
You’ve put in the exact right pause at one minute in
A five second pause
You look at the clock
And then restart

Romp romp romp
Such high flying words
Hummingbird words
Birds of steel
And I can see right through you
Or so I say
As I measure out my five ounce retort
Fold in my illuminating metaphors
My pause is at a minute and a half
Such a bold move

Hey Winter, I know we broke up but…

Dear Winter,

I know it’s been a few weeks since we broke up and even though you moved halfway across the globe to avoid me (which I think was unnecessary), it only just sunk in. I mean, the last few weeks of our relationship were confusing. You were here, you were gone…I really didn’t know what to think. You always get kind of moody when the sun comes around. So I guess I just assumed you’d come back, one last time. It hit me hard to know you were finally gone, at least for a while.

You know, people wonder what I see in you. They call you cold, abusive, whatever. Maybe I just like an underdog. You remember how I used to love feeding birds and squirrels during our time together, right? Those were great times. You do have your good days, you know. And, well, your bad. Sometimes I see you and you are just so amazing. So perfect and inspiring, just what I need. And sometimes…you can be really vindictive, you know. But when it worked, it really worked.

It was the way the streets looked when they were covered in snow. It was the way you brought us all closer together, if only for warmth. It was the way snowflakes felt on my cheek, the way my breath frosted in the air, and the way I could always count on you to deliver at least one snow day. And remember that jacket I wore all through our time together? That insanely thin fall jacket I bought on a whim, three years ago? Everyone thought I was crazy for wearing it. They simply could not believe it was warm enough. And yeah, sometimes it wasn’t.

But I didn’t mind. I sort of like the cold.

I liked a lot of things about you. And I still do, a bit. We didn’t spend much time outside when we were together but when we did, it was amazing. Remember how pink my face used to get? And how crazy my hair looked after wearing a hat for hours? And all the other amazing stuff we did. Snowball fights and tobogganing. Snowboarding and licking icicles. Curling up next to a roaring fire and exchanging Christmas presents. We had some great memories.

I miss you, you know. Just a little bit. I didn’t mean all those things I said near the end. I was just frustrated. I’m not a one season kind of girl, and I was ready for a change. That doesn’t mean I’ll forget you Winter. We both know Summer is just a meaningless fling. He just gets so clingy and predictable. I like a man who keeps me guessing.

I know we need our time apart though. I would visit you down in the Southern Hemisphere but honestly, I wouldn’t know what to say. You’re always so different down there. It’s just a little awkward. But listen, the months we spent together were really great, hopefully we can be just as happy together, next time around.

Look, you know my number. If you’re ever in town, call me up. We can go to Winterlicious or whatever.

Ever yours,