He’s making mashed potatoes, have you thought about the hurt?
Digs us from our comfort zone and then removes the dirt.
Cuts us with a peeler, removing layers of skin.
Takes them off strip by strip and throws them in the bin.
Then takes the knife and cuts us into pieces uniform.
First one way then the other, that’s the norm.
We lay there stark and naked, stripped of all our cover.
Exposed, embarrassed, proud, not thinking of each other.
We’re thrown into a metal pan water freezing cold.
Tumbled swirled, tipped upside down; washing we’re told.
We shudder as the icy water hits us once again.
It almost takes your breath away; at least it numbs the pain,
We settle down and rest a while; some float and swim around.
Thinking of the good old days when we lived beneath the ground.
At first the heat was lovely, but we knew it wouldn’t last.
The temperature kept rising, now the pleasantries were past.
This was self-survival time as the water came to boil.
Blow the rest I’m getting out. His plan I’m going to foil.
It came hard when I realised there was nowhere I could go.
And I felt myself breaking up from my eyes down to my toes.
The scene was now chaotic, bubbling tossed about.
We tried to come together full of fear and doubt.
All our hardness broken all resistance had now gone.
Comforting each other, helping each and every one.
When the masher hit us, it didn’t seem to matter.
We were already broken, and enjoyed the milk and butter!
We came together united smooth and it was good.
Were we made for this? A different kind of food.
Planted, grown and harvested prepared for sacrifice.
Given to feed the Nations, as our brother Jesus Christ.