Poor Cauldy, he groaned in the afternoon light,
Stuffed full of potato, not feeling quite right.
“Too much,” he wheezed, as he slumped in his chair,
While butter and booze danced thick in the air.

Ling Ling frowned, sipping her tea,
“I warned you my love, but you wouldn’t hear me:
You drink before lunch, then load up on starch
No wonder you’re bloated and can’t even march.”

He nodded, ashamed, a hand on his gut,
Regret sinking in like a door he can’t shut.
“That spud did me wrong,” he muttered so low.
While Ling ling just sighed:
>"Some lessons come slow".

>>512035083
Cauldy stumbled from the bar,
Dreams of whiskey in a jar,
Pockets light, but spirit bold,
Craving something hot, not cold.

He saw the stand, its steam aglow,
A baked potato, dressed just so.
Dreams of cheese and beans and parsley flakes
He bought it fast, despite the stakes.

For she had warned him just last night,
"Too much starch will spoil the fight
You drink, you snack, then fall asleep,
You dream big dreams, but never keep."

But Cauldy grinned with starchy glee,
"One spud won't ruin destiny!"
He took a bite, the skin was charred
The taste? Divine. Her glare? Hard.

"Potato first, then lies again,"
She muttered soft through pouring rain.
He wiped his mouth, too drunk to care,
A baked mistake beneath her stare.