We don’t follow the sign.
I try to think about the youngest potato
I’ve ever seen and have no idea.
I’ve never got my hands dirty.
I’ve never crouched down
and pulled a potato out of the ground
with gloves I imagine to be orange
and torn at the wrist
because they’re one size too small.
I used to know someone who owned an allotment.
He told me, Never be afraid of an old potato.
I would shudder at the filth under his fingernails
as he took a ready salted crisp to his lips.
© Carl Burkitt 2021