Underneat Our Paint

Underneath our beautiful paint,
We are all chipped plates.
I didn�t want this sweet potato, but
I read somewhere that they can lift your mood.
It�s too hot to eat, and the plate is chipped.

All I ever wanted was a series of windows
To hang in my backyard from branches.
I never felt quite comfortable looking at something
Straight on. But I thought if I could just get some
Windows, I could enjoy the trees.

All the brown sugar in the house is as dry as an old dog.
It doesn�t compact in the fist like it should.
My potato receives it like a half-hearted compliment
From a long-distance friend. Like a whiff of
Cigarette smoke and body odor in a long elevator ride.

As I sit in my garden watching the bees
Gather dust in their backlit jars
I have to wonder how long until these silk flowers
Wilt in the unrelenting sun.
How long until this sweet potato is cool enough to eat?