Chips


Depending on the size, we'll just say $1.99.
Almost half a bag full of air and less potatoes to munch.
*POP* the bag goes with the air flowing 100 mph
In your face.
You reach into the grease filled bag.
Grabbing the salty thin chip, you pull it out of the bag.
Analyzing the texture you finally pop the delicate
Chip in your mouth.
*SNAP*, *CRUNCH*, *GULP*
Grab, analyze, pop in mouth.
Repeat.
Reach in bag.
Gone.
Empty.
The delicious, everlasting, salty grease on your hands.
You lick your fingers one by one.
*CRUNCH*
The taste makes you more esurient.
Bleeding all over the floor.
You lay there, appeased.
Brumal.
Cadaverous.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem