Mr. Potato Heart

Gee - there he goes, in his  country-bum clothes,
    a wannabe-some-sort of stud
Chancing his luck, always splattered in muck,
    all the charm of an overripe spud!

That girl in the town, with the permanent frown,
    who works in the 'Ocean Fresh' shop,
Well wiggles her hips as she walks and eats chips -
    once smiled at him at the bus stop 

And hence he has tried, to again catch her eyes,
    but he's nervously fumbled and foiled
Endlessly did he pop, in that fish 'n' chip shop,
    where he fretted and sweated and boiled!

Now he must up his chances, elongate the glances -
    and uproot that damned paranoia
Smile sweetly and say, he supplies everyday -
    new potatoes to her shop's employer!

He'll invite her to dinner! That should be a winner!
    So what should he make from their tatties?
Would he blend?  What to try?  Should he fritter or fry?
    Or breadcrumb a few salmon patties?

Yes, he musters away, in that field every day,
    with thoughts of the girl in his head
Just a full breath then ask, quite a menial task,
   - sets off with good feelings, no dread

But his dreams get all mashed, his intentions are dashed,
    when she fancies one more a la carte.
Sees them both linking arms, roasting hope, roasting charm
   - all digging down deep in his heart

It was never to be, that beauty and he -
    who smelled like a sweet pickled egg
But, visits the village, when fresh from his tillage, 
    - his chances now roll into segue........

A new girl was seen, peeling pods ripe and green,
    at the fruit and veg shop in the town
So without hesitation, said he fed the whole nation
    with the finest of King Edwards' crowns

Sat across from the other, they smiled, often stuttered
    exchanging the giggles and glares
A saute delight, each and every night,
     hot potatoes and cinnamon pears!
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