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Legend

The View at 62

Raven

Sprout

Rum And Pesto



Firefly

Helen of Troy

Melissa Melissa Melou

Totally Violated

ain't nothin goin down

Anybody wanna rock 'n' roll

Butterfly Collector

Sammy D

I want my face back

That's How It Is To Grow Old

Unlike You

The Drinkin' Song

From C To Shining C

Wounded Branch

Lovin You

Thank You For Finally Listening

Mister. Blackball

Poster Child.

Little Miss Someday

No count Nebbish

I Hate To Work

Estella Rosa Annabella Margarito

For my Rott Tsupook,means. Spoiled brat in the Kootenai language.

Sugar Love

Solid Gold Fairway

Ask Again,When the Drugs Wear Off

Undercover Best Seller

More Poetry >>

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







Sprout


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