My Potato is Like No Other

it has 6 eyes,
not capable of seeing.
it is wrinkled like an old man,
yet it has only been a few weeks
since it has been birthed from
the soil.
it is soft to the touch, and
squishy to the squeeze.
i have named it Squishy,
and it shall be mine,
and it shall be my Squishy.
it rolls around on the floor
rather well.
it does not bounce when dropped.
it does bruise when dropped.
i can toss it into the air,
but i cannot catch it very well,
and that is when it bruises.
it looks dehydrated.
it does not like to talk.
it keeps mostly to itself.
Squishy has made a home in my
purse until i decide to throw
Squishy out.
i can sort of mold it into
another shape if i squeeze
really hard on both sides.
naturally, it is lumpy and ovalish.
i poke it and i can leave
dents in it.
it is fun to play with.
the colour is goldish-brownish.
it could be huggable,
though i have not tried.
i will now.
i did.
it is indeed somewhat huggable.
if i leave it out longer,
it may begin to grow hairs,
and i may be able to increase
the intellect of my conversations
with it from
“hey, Squishy!” to
“hey, Squishy! how are you?”
i cannot wait for that day.

if i turn it on its side, it
looks like a potato turned on its side.
my potato is amazing.
no tears in the potato’s eyes
when i toss it into the trash.
it does not bounce, but plops.
poor Squishy,
my potato,
my amazing potato named Squishy.
nowhere to go except the dump
unless a friendless soul finds
Squishy and takes it in.
Squishy will live on though.
Squishy will live on in my heart.