Nina Parmenter: The Root Of My Anger

“Get onto the page!”
I erupt, full of rage,
but my subject is starting to win.
With each phrase I cross out,
I explode with self-doubt -
will I ever get under its skin?
As mushroom clouds bloom
in the gloom of my room
(to the great consternation of NATO),
I am shattered, a mess,
for I cannot express
the potatoness of a potato.

I slap a huge spud
on my desk with a thud
and stare into its beastly black eyes.
“Disclose your true essence
you putrid tumescence!”
I yell, sending flames to the skies.
But then, with a fizz
and a flash, there it is!
An abstraction that’s worthy of Plato!
Now the world can be healed -
I have won! I’ve revealed
the potatoness of a potato.