Looking For Potatoes
by Lea Brock

My fingers grubby, I found only rocks
Not even mine, but the illustrious Aristotle's
Inherently desiring to go down rocks
(like the sage?) into the lowest places.
Those cinderblocks to Hershey's feet affixed.
Rocks, like diamonds: glistening, glaring, blinding trinkets
Illusions of having, climbing, glee.
Fashion, Famine, Divided Family.
It's back to wheat on public land for me.