Potatoes by Jay C. Davis
This one came from one of my poetry buddies (in the nick of time because I had nothing in mind for today!). I love plays on words and I started giggling when I got to the word “eyeing”. I read this aloud to my mother and I think you should read it aloud, even just to yourself, because it’s even better that way.
Potatoes
By Jay C. Davis
A family of potatoes lives under my sink.
They huddle there like wretched immigrants
in the hold of my kitchen, eyeing anyone
who peers down there with suspicion.
Despite the language barrier, they persist.
The more industrious put down roots.
They wear the same brown shabby coats
they brought from the old country,
though one or two are wrinkled now
from sleeping in them every night.
When the cupboard door is closed
I sense them in there, huddling closer,
muttering in their dark dialect, comforting
one another, whispering their dreams.
