Missy’s clique, morbidly skinny in line,
Against the front door, their barrier defined.
Joy, with curves, her beauty refined,
Resented by skeletons, faces maligned.
No match for Joy Tuberson, roots deep,
In the small farming community, secrets to keep.
“Love the tiara,” Joy quips with a sweep,
Triumphant, she crosses, destiny to reap.
“Thanks, Joy,” Missy responds with grace,
Curves and confidence, Joy’s winning embrace.
Threshold crossed, with a radiant face,
Anthocyanin rush, a vibrant trace.
In epic battle, the root vegetable stands,
Against an army of skeletons, life demands.
Another day triumphs, in her hands,
Joy Tuberson, in her vibrant lands.
Farmhands toil as dusk begins to fade,
Potatoes picked, the hot summer delayed.
Joy, at Arbor Ring, in the field dismayed,
Machinery failed, a problem cascaded.
Haulm topper, harvester, both in despair,
What went wrong? Joy breathes the morning air.
Rocks near the surface, a possible snare?
In the dark, no fixes, dawn to declare.
The rooster crows, mid-September’s yawn,
Golden sun rises, a new day is drawn.
A wasteland below, where bones are drawn,
A family of skeletons, violently gone.
Decimated remains, scattered and bright,
Glowing yellow bones, a grim morning light.
Aroused and dismembered, a horrific sight,
Joy ponders the scene, with morning in sight.
Arrived at the tent, the Blue Ribbon she had won,
Best organic potato, county fair fun.
Judges appointed, goodwill they’d begun,
Skeleton minority, solving mysteries undone.
Green foliage luscious, blue-violet bloom,
Berries well-shaped, a sight to consume.
Balanced starchiness, texture’s sweet tune,
Silky skin, gastronomic praise, in the room.
Judges giddy, with anticipation wide,
Horticultural mystery, the prize plant guide.
Tuber’s excellence, in their minds reside,
Creamy, dense texture, perfection implied.
On the craniums’ question, Joy deflects,
A secret ingredient, her answer reflects.
Fertilized with bone meal, a scandalous effect,
In that tent, a mystery the fair connects.
Joy and mature spuds, eyes wide with surprise,
New potatoes, skinless, frolicked in wild guise.
Between barn and yard, their actions unwise,
Youthful, destructive, farm’s bottom line defies.
Arbor Ring’s poletons, in skeletons they bask,
Rejecting their skin, in a rebellious task.
Mutilating flesh, a scandalous masque,
Unmarketable, their state, a daunting ask.
In the barn’s corner, Joy’s shocking find,
A potato rumbler, banned by the kind.
Scores of syringes, iodine-defined,
Her suspicions aroused, secrets to unwind.
Joy crunched numbers with care,
Potato weight, eight ounces, she’d declare.
Arbor Ring farms, with spuds to spare,
85,500 per acre, in the air.
Skeletons weigh, on average, twenty-six pounds,
1,000 corpses per acre, burial mounds.
Outnumbered by potatoes, the fact confounds,
85 to one, in community bounds.
Invitation’s call, they all appeared,
No clue who invited, mystery revered.
Scab and Rhizo, in attendance they stood,
Scurf twins, Black and Silver, both understood.
Fusarium Dry Rot and Pink, colors so good,
Early and Late Blight, on time as they could.
Joy online shopped for osteoclasts, a daring quest,
A longshot hope, precursor cells on skeletons to invest.
Sound asleep, the release might manifest,
Trigger resorption, decay, a tumultuous test.
In her cart, 50 million, a bold move made,
No new bone, decay’s acceleration laid.
Years of dismay, farmland in the shade,
Developers avaricious, sacredness betrayed.
Cemeteries not spared, on desirable land they encroach,
Urban sprawl, impacting potato and skeleton approach.
Rural community, fate they reproach,
Competing for destinies, on plots they encroach.
Arbor Ring Farm, recent events unfold,
Rumors of diseases, secrets to be told.
Tensions rising, co-existence bold,
Biological warfare, a future to hold.
Prepared, Joy stands against the brewing storm,
Infectious diseases, a potential swarm.
Tensions surface, peaceful co-existence transforms,
In the land of potatoes and skeletons, a new norm.
Mother Chip paraded her gallery of fame,
Skelekin immortalized, each with a name.
Chief Birdygo, Rich the CSI in the game,
Nurse Janet, Brad the Surgeon, with acclaim.
Pirate, Cruz, Coco, Amazing Grace,
Chica Mutante and brother, in a shared space.
Terranean burkini models, Inané and Insané’s embrace,
Bin 206 guys, Dirty Rich, the clown in case.
Missy, the granddaughter, in the narrative,
Butterscotch, the favorite, in the perspective.
Potatoes and skeletons, from a nearby village,
On the brink, in mutual assured damage.
Mother Chip tittered, a sinister glee,
Allie, the mermaid, out of the family.
Manipulating Joy with the clown’s decree,
Potato head, carrying out the plan to foresee.
Urban encroachment, a massacre’s tension,
Arbor Ring Farm, the community’s apprehension.
Mother sowed division with subtle intention,
Enlisting Joy, her stooge, for intervention.
The potato rumbler, distrust it invoked,
Mother’s idea, in the community it poked.
Not-so-secret meeting, alarms provoked,
Potato diseases, a threat evoked.
Missy, rebellious, ignoring advice,
Fooling around with spuds, her vice.
Pubic symphysis secrets, a dangerous device,
Mother Chip’s discovery, a plot precise.
“A Potato Chip in the family?” Mother queried,
Missy’s deception, the truth uncovered.
Over her dead body, she’d not be hurried,
Ramifications, a sentiment shuddered.
