Picked Up Potatoes

We walked over the rough soil previously churned by machine, exposing potatoes to open air. Mechanized harvesting sheds debris like careless love hands whose only aim is gain. We picked up those potatoes scattered like rubbish, floating on ocean waves. Peelings pitched as casually as the unwanted debris of our lives, left a freezer stocked for an entire winter. There's an old cliché, One man's trash . . .