I was pretty late to the crinkled crisp party.
My family were crisp traditionalists.
We favoured the OG fried spud, beautifully plain.
University broadened my tongue
and introduced me to the real McCoy,
ridged for my pleasure.
I fell for a whole flurry of flavoured fjords:
flame grilled steak slopes, salt and vinegar valleys,
cheese and onion mounds.
I met a landscape of spectacular ups and downs
but when a trough swallowed me up
there was always a town waiting
to give me a hug and much needed (salt and) shake.

© Carl Burkitt 2020