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Before You Walk, You'll Have To Crawl

Rich.

Most Beautiful One

Their Sweet Song Back To Me.

Waitin



Soul Train

Uncool in School

King David Bold

Me And My Indian Wife

Merchant Of Chaos

Mary's Kitchen

TMT

I'm Glad My Mom Can't See Me

Rabbit Hole

Earthen Underworld

Blue Ribbon Frenemy

B As In Bad.

Sounds Of Sire

A lot like you.

Master Ghuey Charles Dickens

I Can't Take It No More

West Coast

The State I'm In (Song)

Midnight Comes Callin- collaboration

Family Tree

Starving For Words

Why Are You Here

Toddler's Moon

RFKMP

Trickle Down

Courtesy

Too High

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A single organic, russet potato at the bottom of a five pound bag of potatoes,
began sprouting roots on my kitchen table.
Although, the runt of the litter
Sprout had tubers jutting out in all directions.
in bold contrast to his other siblings
who's skins were compliantly smooth.
His persistent roots,
came bursting through the plastic.
Maybe one out of thousands of russets go on 
to become a potatoe plant. 
But, Sprout, didn't know or care about any of that.
He was busy becoming a potato plant.
My first impulse was to fry all the others immediately,
save an inssurection,
then toss Sprout into the trash.
His relatives weighing heavily upon him,
seemed helpless to make Sprout understand his place.
Carefully, with some reverence, 
I placed Sprout on my cutting board,
and began paring him, cutting out his eye
then I diced him into bite-sized pieces,
and shoveled him into my frying pan,
thick, with searing hot cooking oil.
Feeling conflicted, I wondered  .
if his brothers and sisters
still, safely, huddled in the bag,
were mourning Sprout,
this Russet Individualist,
or were they gloating over his demise?

Buddy Bee Anthony

All editing and publishing rights reserved as is by this author.

Re-Edited 02/06/2024 @ 5:17  PM Pacific  StandardTime





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