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 . . .
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