but I'm also peering down the barrel
of a bag of sea salt and vinegar chips.
Grabby fingers poised and ready,
picking the small bits of sour
for the grace of twisted mouth.
but my gaze is fixed.
The greasy silver cradles the crunchy glories,
all puffed through with bubbles and twists,
folding over on their own delicious knees,
ecstatic to meet
the grinding altar of my teeth.
My little poem for dVerse's Thursday OpenLinkNight #193! Any poem will do, they say, so here's to potato chips!