A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
It induces hubris.
And hubris by nature is insubstantial,
pinned to power inconsequential, like
the choice between chips
and roasties.
But when the potatoes are paths
and the peeling alone could end a life,
it's dangerous to listen to the Dauphinoise.
Creamy, smooth, rich they may be.
But unpalatable when paired with ketchup.
Even mayonnaise is too much.
The potato grows in silence.
The iron corrodes in silence.
And knowledge corrodes noisily
shouting certainty above all things.
