neofatalist (neofatalist) wrote in bent_on_bangkok,

Epitaph of a Potato Bread Loaf

It held that off-yellow
Like jaundiced flesh
The type no child trusts until they bite-
Tastes the unique flavor
Not so healthful as rye, not so barren as white
Perfect purgatory from terrestrial tubers
The starchy brown flesh
Formed of delicacy -from dust
Covered in bleached flour
Stalks broken -to dust

It sat for a month in my cupboard.
The flesh grew, bulged out to the bags extent
Now a marble blue and green
Like a mini box-shaped globe
Something so devoid of life
Built on bodies of agriculture
Was now alive: teeming,
Like Idaho.

There was beauty in it
The millions of tiny spores reaching out
Technicolor tapestry
Springing still-life
A nature-born Van Gogh

For a while I admired it
Daring not touch, daring not disturb
With tentative fingers I picked up the plastic
Plucked it from my cupboard
I held it there, bathed in the room’s off-yellow light
And I saw its new-ness

I threw it in the dumpster
It was beautiful
But I sure as hell wasn’t going to eat it.
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