UNFAMILIAR POTATOES

We used to scrub and shine
those soiled potatoes
until they looked alien
to the earth
you once called me a potato
one before the scrubbing
a slob
rounded and out of
proportion
I locked myself up for days
uncomfortably looked down
at my reflection
in the glass door to the house
which distorted my
figure even more so
and now years later I laugh
and think of you as the potato
mouldy green and brown
with wrinkles, misery,
sharp stench and frown
all alien to me
and now I smile
I am long past the stage
of rotten potato