After the police left,
I found the potato
you threw past my head
in the middle of the garden,
haloed by daffodils
and shards of glass,
still tin foiled
and warm to the touch.
I thought of you,
tears burning out the ovens
of your eyes,
of the scream and crash
as your rage shattered
silence and kitchen window,
the absurdity and chaos
of your fingers making
a weapon of a hot meal,
the surreal moment
I felt myself duck for cover
from comfort food cannonballs.
I picked it up, the potato,
and wondered how I’d ever thought
you had a soul full of peace.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
