A breeze blows underground
the personality of public transportation
being pushed down long corridors
and through tunnels
smell of wet earth in the concrete

we are all potatoes

french fried
and mashed
shoe-string and crinkle-cut
baked and dressed
with sour cream and chives
greek yogurt
honey and raisins
bacon bits
cheddar cheese
artichoke hearts
marinated in olive oil and garlic

tuber roots
with tentacles and pock marks
stink-eye and bruises
showing our growth
in lines along our faces
scared arms and hands

And at night
lying in the bed
next to one another we roll over
Potatoes turning in the dirt

we all
roll over

waking to apply
eye glasses

get up
and
take the train.