Poor Potato
Supper tonight was really a mess,
the microwave cooked my potato,
twenty minutes, no less.
Smoke was billowing, from behind my back,
I sat there eating, wondering why the room was
turning black.
Then I remembered that potato all alone,
I opened that microwave, and my potato was gone.
Nothing but the peeling, and it was hard,
now that potato is a possums supper out in the yard.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007
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