mr potato head

he stands on his stand
with his goofy glasses
and blank stare
what horrors has he seen?
him
the defective one with no butt flap
he cannot store his facial pieces
sodomized
by the plastic stand that came in the box
the special metal box
more like a cookie tin
a cell.
a tomb.
doomed to grow eyes
tentacles
desperately reaching out
yearning
for the light
open the box
light up his life.
put on his top hat
make him individual.
because right now
he's just a number
just another plastic potato.