To Scold with Scalding

Sizzled grease lines
my hands, slippery
oil tending the slivers
of potatoes, sopped.

They steam in my
mouth, breathing
out vaporous heat.

I’m impatient,
stuffing the wedge
in my mouth, so

the Yukon Gold
punishes me, scorches
my tongue. Practically

turns it to gold
with the taste of
blistered oil and garlic.

The next slice, I’m
more cautious. I
break it apart

and watch the
mushy insides
scald transparent.

 

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