'Sprout Poem by Buddy Bee Anthony

A single organic russet potato
began sprouting roots
on my kitchen table
at the bottom of
a bag of potatoes.
Although, the runt of the litter
'Sprout' had tubers jutting out in all directions.
In bold contrast to his other siblings
who's skins were compliantly smooth
His roots
became so persistent
they burst forth through the bag.
Maybe one out of thousands of russets
move on to be planted in a potato patch.
Yet Sprout didn't know or care
about that.
He was busy becoming a potato plant.
Although, his relatives weighing heavily upon him
they were powerless to make Sprout understand his place.
I felt conflicted.
My first impulse was to fry up
all the others immediately,
save an insurrection.
Carefully, and with some reverence,
I decided, instead, to place Sprout
on my cutting board.
First, paring and cutting out his eye.
then slicing him
into bite-sized pieces
and shoveling his splayed parts
into my frying pan
thick with searing, hot cooking oil.
I couldn't help but wonder
if his brothers and sisters
still huddled together, in the bag
were mourning Sprout
this Russet Individualist
or were they gloating over his demise?

Buddy Bee Anthony

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Re-Edited on 03/13/2023 @ 10: 15 PM Pacific Time