Ma Pomme de Terre

poetry

Photo by muhammed [paqer on Unsplash

Ma Pomme de Terre

Have I told you of late
you are my potato baked 

bathed breathed blessed ready
no added butter salt necessary

my love for you is all-consuming
your skin shouldn’t be assuming

it can save your inner blooming
for its as tasty as the first dirt cake

Shall I go to the roof to serenade?
Just the Drifters, Penguins and me

giving proof in a cappella harmony 
Pomme de terre, Pomme de terre 

Earth apple, Earth apple I swear
I’ll love you all the time 

if you leave it’ll be a crime
a felony of the first degree

a pomerape, a pompeian tragedy
a bowl of dust, the fleet feet of fleeing pharaohs 

the worst famine in the plaintive pages of potatoes 
yes yes I’ll walk 500 miles to revive  the dreck

of the handy boatman dead or shipwrecked
to brave the wild green waves of moody 

beauty and bottomless insatiability
to find you, my only sustenance

my psalm of pommes in the distance
Oh how is it my darling dear

the closer I get to the fruit
of your roots you disappear?