13 Ways of Looking at Chips
Close to the mic, the poetís whispered title
is tricking the few (Ah! Wallace Stevens!)
to wriggle their delicious knowledge, and mmm!
from the majority, twitching to the crackle
of imagined bag, brusque Saltínívinegar?
Canít help yourself. Poetry stands no chance
against the hot crunch of a perfect chip.
His metaphors come tumbling fast and strange
but was that leaves? and flaming petals?
We re-arrange our ears. Alas, itís tulips now.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, D. A. Prince would be
pleased to hear them.