"Potato" by C. Late

three soldiers in tinfoil jackets roasting on the bottom oven rack she’d cut the ends off one too long for its own good hacked chunks from the pudgy pocked one sliced the largest of the lot into quarters pulling used foil from a crumpled stash she manhandled the starchy meal into silver uniforms tried to unwrap and uncrinkle but eventually abandoned hope supper could be smooth or smartly dressed when the oven sang out its warning she skinned them from the foil burned fingers in her haste to separate what she’d spent so much energy on wadded up the bits she couldn’t reuse and chucked ‘em in the bin the bin it’s where most of us find ourselves after a relationship sharing space with those silver skins not fitting any better than the aluminum did her and her meal prep her and her insistence others should hide what she plans to devour ————————————– C. Late called us from Kansas City, MO. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems x.com/voicemailpoems bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social instagram.com/voicemailpoems