Potatoes Poem by jeff barth

I'm boiling potatoes so I can fry them for breakfast.

Mom used to take the boiled potatos left over from dinners past, out of

the ice box and she would fry them in the mornin.

She always called the fridge an ice box holding tight to what once was.

The leftover potatoes taste different than plain ole' fried ones do.

I'm hungry for them and heavy with childhood nositlgia.

Maybe they'll taste like mom's

and I'll eat them and think about the quick days of

innocence as I savor fried potatoes and hold onto what once was.