The smaller potato,
the bigger steak. That's
what I get, but it's not
what I want. Yet
someone's been generous.
And I couldn't bring
myself to the ingrate's stance
upon any such thing. It's why
people love me, I guess.
It's not why I do it.
It's kind of a mess.
I don't know why
I do. But I don't
care to guess.
In a case like this.
Where they gave me
the best
they knew, or wanted
- and left themselves second
to one. But took
the potato of generous size
to console themselves. It was wrong
as a guess, but
I guess it was right
to lie.
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