You carefully consider
Maris
Piper or Jersey Royal,
lost
in thought ―
somewhere
in the Channel Islands.
I
look sideways at your foraging.
Del
Monte, cat food ―
you
can tell so much
from
the contents of a lonely cart.
You
choose a kind King Edward,
as
I pretend to be interested in whole oats.
I
feel the precision of your choice
in
my throat.
I
see you being swept away,
smoothing
olive oil on the skin ―
a
good slow roast ―
cheeky
potato salad for one.
tk/July 2013
Thank you R.A.D. Stainforth for expertly reading this poem.
 |
| photo by Agustin Berrocal |
