I really love those potato chips, pass so quickly over my lips.
A burst of salt on the end of my tongue, yummy and tasty, so much fun.
You can eat them plain, they all taste the same.
Get some dip from the corner store, you’ll soon be out and run for more.
Thin and round, thick and wavy, seldom served with sausage gravy.
Nothing like a bag that’s new and fresh, soon to be gone without a mess.
Don’t need a spoon, fork or knife, potato chips are the staff of life.
Poetry & Art by Patricia Walter 2000 ©