Maggie's Farm

Writing a poem on the death of a child seems unsporting, since almost any effort is guaranteed to affect.
Try writing an affecting poem about a potato. Now that's a challenge. How's this insta-doggerel:

— POTATO
Dying slices oozing life
Upon an oft-knifed block,
A spud no longer essays roots
or ticks its bioclock.
The God who deigned to give it life,
The God of deep-plowed soil,
Now prepares its brief afterlife—
A bath of boiling oil.

I completely misunderstood the context of the poem.
(Sometimes a poet's allusion is too obscure.)
Please withdraw my content.

BTW, in perusing the web, I came across this in Wikipedia:

"For many years, [Roy] Campbell worked at the BBC and remained a fixture. During a poetry recitation by the outspoken Stalinist Stephen Spender, Campbell stormed the stage and punched him. However, Spender refused to press charges, saying, "He is a great poet… We must try to understand."[34] Spender later broke with the Communist Party of Great Britain and presented Campbell with the 1952 Foyle Prize for his verse translations of St. John of the Cross."

What is it about artists and communism? They seem indifferent to their own existence.