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.