A punchbowl full of water, 
Lays like ships catching at straws, 
Feeling blue like a savory Cuban sandwich 
Chips of pain swept away with ease.

Fry the chips in oil, 
Struggling to breathe in the heat, 
Scream in silence, 
Turn dark gray like oxidized chips.

Handfuls of potatoes reach out 
To salvage the drowning soul in mud, 
But no one is near to speak.

Even in unconsciousness, 
The sprinkling of salt 
You can have faith in the depths of darkness. 
I will never give in; 
I am simplicity and humility, like a potato.