• Carly Feinman

Day 64- 11.19.20

A side of mashed potatoes (yes this is a poem)

I measure the water,

but not precisely.

Two cups go in, then time to

get ahold of the knob, push it in and

turn it to high, then the waiting starts.

While waiting for the water to boil,

I rotate through several compulsions--

I pet my dog, walk to the bathroom and

glance at my reflection,

ponder the meaning of eternity,

pick at my cuticles.

Once it's boiling, the bag of

dehydrated potatoes goes in,

and after that it all comes together

quite quickly actually.


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