Beware the Potato
There is a potato.
It is round, it is small, it is
brown.
I'm sure it's warm,
though I've never ventured to stick a fork in it.
See the potato, how it rolls comically
on the ground
It rolls, foreign sounds squelching from it
Wheezing from it
Like a language pouring from drunken, unfamiliar lips
Clipped like spores, like poisonous horns.
Oh, how the potato tumbles
It tumbles, and it quakes.
It shakes, this potato, and it is comfortable
where it sits
on the ground
brown.
A fine fuzz lines its skin
There may be imperfections, there may be spuds.
The potato may be chilly once in a while.
But the potato rolls, and it rolls, and it rolls
This potato, in its translucent glass box
Dim with the condensation of heavy breath
This latent, friendly murderer.
Beware the potato,
for behind its carved smile
Who knows?
It is round, it is small, it is
brown.
I'm sure it's warm,
though I've never ventured to stick a fork in it.
See the potato, how it rolls comically
on the ground
It rolls, foreign sounds squelching from it
Wheezing from it
Like a language pouring from drunken, unfamiliar lips
Clipped like spores, like poisonous horns.
Oh, how the potato tumbles
It tumbles, and it quakes.
It shakes, this potato, and it is comfortable
where it sits
on the ground
brown.
A fine fuzz lines its skin
There may be imperfections, there may be spuds.
The potato may be chilly once in a while.
But the potato rolls, and it rolls, and it rolls
This potato, in its translucent glass box
Dim with the condensation of heavy breath
This latent, friendly murderer.
Beware the potato,
for behind its carved smile
Who knows?
posted by Stobux | 9:57 PM
2 Comments:
f you read the poem preceding this reflection, you may be thinking "What the f*ck!?" I just rolled with it, and looking back I really liked how that turned out. I left with a sense of confused hilarity, but at least it was memorable.
Anyway, to abolish the mystery (if you like mystery in your life, stop reading now) it's actually about my Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu instructor, Batata. He is small and round and brown. He rolls around on the mat on a daily basis, and can choke you into unconciousness or break a limb within seconds, it's a ground fighting art that has very few rules, where the goal is to make the other guy give up (or be choked/have a limb broken etc.). This makes him a very dangerous potato. Well I just ran with it, and I like the poem that resulted.
These reflections take some of the fun out of reading the poems, although I guess it's fun for you to get some insider information. So there it is, it's about a brazilian dude who looks like a potato.
The more I read this poem, the more I love it (if that doesn't sound too full of myself). I really think it's hilarious, and more so if you don't even know what it's about. To further dispel the mystery, let me go into a few specific lines, and you can see how unoriginal this thing really is...
When I said I've never stuck a fork in it, I was talking about never going against him. I just started the art, and I'd get my ass kicked if I tried. Hence, beware!
The sounds coming from it stem from the fact that he doesn't speak english natively. The way he speaks you can barely understand him, and I guess brazilians just cut off words in the middle. For instance, "Squeeze his elbows together" becomes "Schquee 's elb- choo-geth-"
So they sound clipped. I like this stanza too because I was able to throw some rhymes in there "ground, sounds" "spores, horns" Totally by accident, but it worked out cool. ... Don't tell anyone that was by accident.
In the 4th stanza, I was actually describing a potato. Then in the 5th, the transulcent box is because the gym in which we spar has one side that is just compeltely glass, like a glass box. It gets really misted and foggy from tired breathing and body heat.
The last stanza was not only to be ambiguous, but it's because I can't tell if he likes me or not. I can't understand him very well, so who knows what he's saying?
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