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Sweet Potato
I almost saw a pidgeon die,
either by blunt trauma,
or electrocution.
It walked dangerously close to the third rail.
I ran out of inspiration.
Creamy carrot juice grazes
over my tounge,
as I remember the events of the past few days.
I almost needed a chairlift to reach
the peak of my aunt’s staircase.
She asked how I was doing, how my class was,
and how my other class was.
I replied that I was doing all right.
I didn’t go to my Taekwondo class,
because I mistakenly left my uniform in a plastic bag
on the T. I called the lost and found, and was put on hold.
So I didn’t say anything, and walked into the room that I sleep in.
I placed my two bags on the floor.
When I walked into the kitchen, we ate sausage, sweet potato, and spinach.
Political talk was on the little TV set on the counter,
and it dominated the conversation.
We washed our food down with some water, and I had
a few glasses of milk.
