Lament for a Potato (file under Spud Killer)

Only a Mick,
Such as I,
Would hold court,
To lament the fallen spud,
Fallen by my own hand,
Only to reveal,
The potato phoenix,
Reborn into something new and beautiful,
Tasty and bountiful,
In this year passed,
I have been the judge, jury and executioner,
Of too many to count,
And their death,
Most certainly not for not,
As I have transformed their rugged beauty,
Their palette of flavour to reveal,
With delight,
Mash, medallion and fry,
I have taken them to a Zen like state,
From which joy abounds,
For those that receive it.

Only a Mick,
Such as I,
Could possibly lament,
For the potatoes that I have killed,
Only to rebirth them into something more fantastic,
Something more appealing,
Something revealing,
That from one comes another,
And from another comes pleasure divine,
Only a Mick such as I,
Would redefine Ambrosia,
To now become,
The potato and its many uses,
And in its death,
Finding beauty,
I still lament,
As I accept,
My fate and theirs,
To something more.

Only a Mick such as I,
Could take something,
Which once starved an entire population,
Strangling it and forcing the perilous journey across the Atlantic,
To new and wonderful worlds,
And like the potato I now lament,
Onto ever greater things,
The manifest destiny,
Of mash or fry,
Shepherds pie,
And ever more.

Fear not potato,
You have not lived in vain,
For though I lament,
I too celebrate,
Your simple beauty and truth,
And all the joy that you can bring,
As I transform you,
And in so doing,
Become transformed myself.


An old Irish Proverb states; "Only two things in this world are too serious to be jested on, potatoes and matrimony."

SDM