Yellow Potatoes in a Big Blue Chair

I'm going to eat some yellow hot potatoes, steaming hot, nice and hot, with butter.  They need a little smash, so I'll take my fork and a shake of salt and pepper.  I'm going to take and sit myself in the warm bright sun and eat them hot, with memories on the side.  I can see them now.

I'm going to sit on my big blue chair, low to the ground, made of wood and painted blue as the ocean in the tropics, sit there on that nice blue chair and wiggle my toes while I savor those yellow hot bites of potatoes and butter.  The big blue chair I painted with a friend who told me stories about her wedding and all the cats gone wild and yowling in the middle of the night.  We waved blue paint on our brushes and made the chair shine, and our words had colors, some of them blue, back then.  I'm going to sit on that chair in the warm white sun and hold my brown bowl and have a pile of memories and potatoes on the side.

I'm going to hold my big brown bowl, thrown with my own hands long years ago.  My young brown hands turned pale clay red on the spinning red wheel, turning on a wheel of red-stained metal and music playing high up in the room,  black speakers thumping, my eyes down close to see the grooves of my fingertips in that soft red clay.  The bowl rose up from the wedged brown blob and then all squashed down in a wet curve out with my red-brown palms and slim brown hands.  I heard the Beatles sing while the soft clay climbed, rounded down and its a big brown bowl.

I'm going to wear my dark green sweater my grandma made when I was young, made with her strong smart hands and clicking long needles, sitting while Lassie barked on her huge TV console. Ed Sullivan said it was a really fine shoe and here from England are the Beatles to the screaming girls, and I smiled and my grandma's hands made the dark green sweater and her mouth pinched tight and her head shook that's awful noise from those girls tonight.  I'm going to wear that dark green sweater that I still have now because my grandma cooked all kinds of potatoes and smashed them too with her old silver fork and shook down salt and pepper.  Shook it down and it landed, sprinkled and fine, like some food-colored memories with love on the side.