The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: potatoes.
One of Max's Learning Centre friends lives in Oliver and they've been having twice a week play dates recently, alternating between our house and his. Last time they got together his friend introduced him to Stompin' Tom Connors (yeah, I dunno either) and he's been requesting it... let's just say a lot... since.
Bud the Spud is currently his favorite.
2 comments:
Bud the Spud seems pretty child-friendly, though perhaps a bit unexpected :) I'm not sure how much of that I'd want to listen to any given day, but Max probably wouldn't care much for my taste in music either!
I think this prompt has selected who is lying in the hospital bed. Last week I was considering having it be Q and telling a lost part of that story, but the way this has worked out Mr. Potatoes would now have to have been the Mayor or one of his goons, and I think would need too much back story to retrofit.
Potatoes
Her fingers touch his forehead like summer rain on grass.
“Mr. Potatoes,” she says, “is an ass.”
Spud he thinks, and though he tries to speak
It’s that or breathe and the plastic tube won’t move.
Greg - hey, Stompin' Tom is a Canadian legend. I'm good with Max listening to it as much as he wants. But, yes, unexpected.
Hmmm. Well, I'm on board for the ride, regardless of where we're going and who's taking us there. Great final line, by the way.
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