Paring Potatoes Forgotten at the back of the fridge, They’ve gone long in the eyes Like those of those who emerge From cellars to search the ground For photographs the sky took One look at and dropped. Some are rotten, but not at the core. You can pare that part away The way people cut a substance or A friend out of their lives. Then they appear clean. Some are green under the skin. For once green means stop — We’re not to eat those. But you can Pare them so no green shows. What you’re left with are perfectly Good potatoes, cold and wet And exposed, like people who've gone Underground not for shelter but Because they were found.
Paring Potatoes
Paring Potatoes
Paring Potatoes
Paring Potatoes Forgotten at the back of the fridge, They’ve gone long in the eyes Like those of those who emerge From cellars to search the ground For photographs the sky took One look at and dropped. Some are rotten, but not at the core. You can pare that part away The way people cut a substance or A friend out of their lives. Then they appear clean. Some are green under the skin. For once green means stop — We’re not to eat those. But you can Pare them so no green shows. What you’re left with are perfectly Good potatoes, cold and wet And exposed, like people who've gone Underground not for shelter but Because they were found.