If a five-pound sack of King Edward potatoes
falls on your head from an upper-storey window,
there’s no point seeking advice from someone
whose left foot was reversed over by the back wheel of a taxi
or someone who tripped over a gherkin box
and fell through the opened roof of a wine cellar.
They don’t understand potatoes.
They won’t even mention potatoes
but they’ll mention and mention
the curve of the taxi’s mudguard
or the colour and nationality of the wine
in the keg they landed nearest to,
and insist that a five-pound sack of King Edward potatoes
falling on your head from an upper-storey window
doesn’t hurt, it’s never happened to them before
but it doesn’t hurt, now a taxi reversing over your left foot,
that hurts, don’t go whining to them about
a five-pound sack of King Edward potatoes
falling on your head from an upper-storey window,
you have no idea, they tripped over a gherkin box
and fell through the opened roof of a wine cellar,
so shut up. They don’t believe you anyway,
it was probably only a two-pound sack of King Edward potatoes
and in any case, you shouldn’t walk near window sills
with sacks of potatoes on them, so it’s your own fault,
oh look, there’s a cat,
let’s stroke it, hello kitty kitty,
when those potatoes
and the particular way your heart beats
are the only advice you can ever need.
