I Wish You Were (my) Mrs. Potato Head

I think I am in love with you.
Well, not you.
Frankly you are annoying.

For instance, you insist on letting
Everything you eat run over the
Entire plate, allowing completely
Different parts of the meal to
Intermingle on whichever porcelain
Playground you are eating off of.

The horror! That is a dinner
Plate not a playground.
There is a reason cafeteria trays
In elementary school come with sections.

I loved those trays, they knew.

They understood.

They were trying to instill good
Habits. Habits you blatantly ignore
As you enjoy your green beans with a
Light glaze of mash potato.

I have never, nor will I ever
Blaspheme a green bean
In such a manner.

Also, you don’t like when
I don’t make my bed.

I love not making my bed.
Have you ever slept with
Sheets bunched beneath your
Belly while simultaneously wrapped around
Your legs figure eight style?

It’s the comfiest.
And you can’t see that.

So I obviously am not in love with YOU.

But I kinda am.

With the pieces I guess.

Take your eyes for instance,
They are the best. Polished
Marble dolloped on beds
Of egg white. And when they
Aren’t looking at other people,
I think they are pretty cool.

And your laugh! I imagine it
Would be the ideal sound
To be used as a call to gather
An army of lovable woodland creatures
Without alerting their enemies
to the grouping. It possesses
The appropriate softness and sweetness
To not register in evil’s ears, yet
Still demand the attention of all
Things cute and cuddly.

Thats not to say it lacks substance,
For it is also fierce. Have you read
Narnia or Redwall? Those cute cuddly
Creatures mean business and can take
Care of themselves, much like
Your humor.

I guess I have to talk
About your touch as well.
Every single time we touch
I am infused with an energy.

If you could take the most
Beautiful parts from the live
Performances of the top
Artist in every music genre,
Make them tangible,
And weave those severely different
Yet masterful types of magnificence
Together the resulting
Tapestry would be your skin.

Who wouldn’t want to feel that.

All-encompassing, varied, confident,
Soft, strong, and everything in between.
That is your eyes, your laugh, your touch.

What I am trying to say
Is that I don’t know what
To do. I am confused.
I can’t take your eyes to lunch.
Nor your laugh and humor out dancing.
Nor discuss any topic at length with your touch.

You always have to come along.
You eat, you dance, you talk.
Not your individual parts.

So I guess you can call me selfish.

But I say I just know what I want.
I want your pieces.

But like the items in my
School lunches fifteen years ago,
I don’t want any of them to touch.


2 thoughts on “I Wish You Were (my) Mrs. Potato Head

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