Satan?
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When I was a child I was terrified of Mr. Potato Head.
A potatoes with eyes that were always open and never blinked.
And many interchangeable facial parts.
Horrifying.
Plus, when we was put on your dresser he waited for you to fall asleep,
so he could drink your blood or grind you into sausage.
(I later found out those were minor exaggerations by that babysitter.)
Why did Mom always get her?
Anyway, one time my Dad rented a wood chipper and no one
ever saw Mr. Potato head again.
At the time it seemed unconscionable that he would
leave his wife and his family “the weebles.”
So no one ever saw them again either.
Years later Mr. Potato Head showed up at my front door
with his badly shredded head stitched together.
He said he can come to collect what was due to him.
I somehow managed to find the plastic hat
and insert its peg on the top of his head.
Then I said let’s let bygones be bygones
I told him I loved him
Put him in the microwave oven for an hour
And went to the movies
Silicon Valley Art Underground 