Canid Posted October 30, 2003 Report Posted October 30, 2003 The kitchen smells reached my tongue. My stained white robe stayed on the hook, And though I was not very young, I was a truly awful cook. Soufflés would quickly perish: Sink fast enough to hiss. Rabbits arrived, barely alive, My knife would somehow miss. My saving grace from this disgrace, Was starchy yellow-white. The glorious potato rolled, To me, so cook I might. I learned to make them scalloped, How to mash, I learned to bake, To dice, shred, fry, to spice them up, Each meal did my potatoes make. Then, one night, in the kitchen, While setting up to bake, A miraculous creation, (honey sweet potato cake) I turned and there before me, Lined up beneath the knives, On my work-worn kitchen counter, Russets staring with potato eyes. I said, "those need to be cut out, If these, I am to cook," And from the drawer behind me, The eyeing tool I took. I dropped it as I turned around, For on my counter there, Lay fifteen more potatoes, And my sharpest kitchenware!" I said then, "what is going on?" And gathered up the knives, But where the knives were s'posed to go, Found more potato lives. And onto each potato there, Was carved a darkened face, Looking dubiously upon me, Ev'ry line with hatred traced. Then, on ev'ry cup and surface, Of my kitchen, saw I more. Ev'ry species of potato sitting, Where I could not ignore. And their little cold brown bodies, Filled me with a kind of fear. Though I knew that they could make no move, I sensed my end was near. Thus fleeing from the kitchen, Did I run to meet my fate: I leapt, blinded by panic, Into a giant French-fry Mate©. And so I met my gruesome end, And I think, to this day, That they celebrate their victory, In some cruel potato way. [Editing credit to my Grandfather.]
Kalypso Posted November 3, 2003 Report Posted November 3, 2003 I don't think I want to cook potatos anymore!
reverie Posted November 4, 2003 Report Posted November 4, 2003 *applauds...* very orginal... write more... revery the dreamlost "fire the sky, and sale the sky...(REM)" the dream continues...
Appy Posted November 4, 2003 Report Posted November 4, 2003 absolutely hilarious and brilliant in it's own way *echo's reverie's words* more! :woot:
Illianna Wolfsong Posted November 7, 2003 Report Posted November 7, 2003 (edited) Would a toast offered with 2 glasses of potato vodka be a bad thing here? LOL I loved it! I'm delighted that I clicked on the peculiar title. This one is an instant classic. It also gives warning not to stay up late eating junk food before going to bed... too many potato chips perhaps. I do have a question... in your edit, you mention your grandfather. Was he the one that originally penned this, or are you crediting him for inspiration? Thank you very much for sharing this! It was a joy to read. -Illi Edited November 7, 2003 by Illianna Wolfsong
Canid Posted November 8, 2003 Author Report Posted November 8, 2003 No... I'm crediting him for editing. I was in a poetry-writing mood and was sitting in English class. I had just written "All Hallows Even" and didn't want to waste the mood, so I asked the person beside me for a random, non-emotional topic. She said "potatoes" and hence I wrote this. When it was finished and I had posted it, I showed it to my grandfather who began making editing suggestions - I felt obliged to credit him.
Recommended Posts