I want to come back as a chip shop chip.
I want to make boys like me swoon.
I want lips to be licked by my mere mention.
I want to be the reason people keep going until Friday.
I want my overdone crusty bits to be my best bits.
I want to have salt rubbed into my wooden fork wounds.
I want to come back as a chip shop chip
and hear people say
I probably shouldn’t but, oh, go on then.

© Carl Burkitt 2020