[ WP ] You talk to potatoes . Sometimes , they talk back .

A quiet, short, and simple `` Hello'' 
 is what I first heard 
 the day I spoke to a potato. 
 
 I found it quite queer, 
 I found it absurd, 
 that with some fries, I could have a cold beer. 
 
 They do n't say a lot, 
 mostly nothing of note, 
'cept they do n't like being cooked in a pot. 
 
 Baked ones are n't nice, 
 to the french fries they gloat, 
 `` I'm a true starch, best served with rice!'' 
 
 `` America loves us.'' The fries would reply, 
 the salad and soup having their back, 
 as the mashed ones start to cry. 
 
 Comforting is the hash brown, 
 leader of the Potato Pack, 
 to the raw potatoes brought from town. 
 
 `` You'll be cooked soon,'' they likely say, 
 the raw ones gathered in a bag, 
 but not before the Baked begin to ruin the day. 
 
 A battle breaking forth, 
 like a deadly game of vegetable tag, 
 starch flying like fireworks on July the Fourth. 
 
 Hundreds slain, by the veggie brawl, 
 the taters used as veggie protection, 
 the Baked crushed by a bowling ball. 
 
 So please do n't talk to a potato, 
 avoid all form of connection, 
 instead talk to the cherry tomato. 
 
 _____ 
 
 Second poem I've done today, let me know what y'all think! I do n't do poetry too much: p
