Big bakers, weekers, chippers, spuds.
Prátaí, pitters, purdies, pirries, pertas. The precious pratoe.
Tatties, taytos, wee totie ones, soapy ones, waxy ones.
Good aetin’ balls o’ flaar.
Hello Potato.

Pinks, reds, blues, blacks, flint-white, purple, Golden Wonder.
Standards, Lumpers, Rocks, Great Scots,
Evergoods, Majestics, Sackfillers, Peerless,
Records, Ninetyfold, so much promise.

Crusaders, Champions, Buffs, Arran Victory and Arran Pilots.
Irish Chieftains, British Queens, Earls of Essex, Dunbar Yeomen.
Home Guard, Ulster Prince, King Edwards, Stormont Dawn.

Mash, champ, Cál Ceannann, Stobhach, Poundies,
fry up them leftovers with nettles and some scallions,
with a wee drop o’ milk and an egg.

Christmas roasties, deep fat fryer double-dipped.
Sunday bakers meditating in the bottom of the oven,
nodding off in their pews.

Hasselback accordions with a bay leaf in every fold?
Ach sure it tastes like a dream.
Dauphinoise? Well that’s just a waste of good spuds and cream…