The Little Yam dreamed of an overworld
where her two legs would rise above the ground
and she could stand on the table
where policy-making potatoes
make their mash.
The Little Yam had big eyes
not good for pie, not good for pie.
The Little Yam’s eyes were cut,
the Little Yam’s tongue was taken
in return for her visit to the top.
When she finally stood on the plate
where the drunk prince sat, pious,
a huge metal womb engulfed her,
smashed her new legs.
Her hot skin started to blister
and then they began to eat her:
Little Yellow Yam on a big white plate.