Mr Potato Head
The eyes fit into little holes;
The nose, ears, mouth do, too.
Of course, you have some choices
But not more than just a few.
The parts are made of plastic
Though way back in my own youth,
The body was a real potato -
That's the doggone truth.
The toy came with accoutrements -
Each pointed, like a stud,
Which you stuck with wild abandon
Into any uncooked spud.
I told this to my grandkids' mom
Who, when her own mom spoke
Of using a potato, she
Assumed it was a joke.
But creativity was once
So simple, we've forgotten.
The only drawback was
Our masterpiece, at times, went rotten.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment