a swimming pool for potatoes

they were pulled from deep beneath the soil

in my garden as a cold breeze warned of frost.

their life continued in the basement darkness,

coated in clods of garden soil, neglected

but not forgotten, unknown to them,

their fate predetermined to become the 

Thanksgiving mashed potatoes,

to be baptized and cleansed in a kitchen sink

peeled and chopped and boiled

and mashed and blended with 

milk and butter, salt and pepper.

oh humble potato, I love you so. 

Thank you, thank you on this

Thanksgiving Day for your

yumminess.