Remember the roast potato days,
try to feel them when they arrive
in a kind of “What is this life…” way

The days when a surfeit of crisp-crunch
surrounds a fluffy middle, robed in a gravy of any persuasion
placating even the glummest sentiments

When rains are driven off
by silken rice pudding
spiked with a sweet acid dollop of jam of any fruit

Recall the carbohydrate wealth
when the poor days come
and your heart-stomach rumbles

Butter fat richness will return
and learning to trust this
is an adult meal indeed