Potato Run

I'm stepping down the narrow wooden steps.
I'm thinking about what part of the step to put my wieght on.
The middle, where it's worn darker?
The unsturdy railing side?
Or the left where it's rusty and the nails are gone?

I'm going on the right this time.
Hope there's no sound.
There won't be any slivers to catch on my socks if I stay to the right.
That always startles and stops me.
I want to go quickly
so there won't be enough time for the stair to crack
and make me to fall through,
or for the spiders to realize there's someone out here.

This old shed gives me the creeps.

I will not turn around and go back inside the house.
I'll still have come back out here anyway,
so I can go to the basement for potatoes.
No one will go for me.
Mom asked me to go,
"Quick, go get me some potatoes".
I wouldn't do it for them, either,
I'm the one she asked.
I was the one dumb enough to be in the kitchen while she is cooking dinner.
I should still be outside playing until Dad whistles.

I'm going in the basement.
The cold doesn't bother me,
Or the wet.
It's the dark,
the cave-like ceiling so low.

I hate that sump pump.
It scares me.
I'm afraid of slipping into it and never coming out.
That stupid little piece of board isn't going to stop anything from falling in!
When it starts it's noise and the rubber ball starts moving
I hate it!

I'm not going to turn on the light.
I will only have to go back and turn it off before I go back up the stairs anyway.
And I need my hands to hold my shirt up so the potatoes don't fall out.
I might as well let my eyes get adjusted and feel my way in the potato bin.
It's disgusting when those gnarly eyes are in there when I reach in.

I hate it if a rotten potato lets my fingers go through.
Then I feel bad if I don't dig it out.
Nasty, smelly, thing.
I better have enough potatoes,
I don't think I can make myself come down here again.
Now, here I go.
I'll run up the stairs without tripping or dropping any,
I can see enough light from the kitchen from down here.