Chips
...a poem about decades-old hunger.
I am hungry. I am not just hungry, I am famished. I am 90s-media-heroin-chic-nothing-tastes-as-good-as-skinny-feels-Diet-Coke ravenous. I am Special-K-SlimFast-WeightWatchers-Slimming-World-cabbage-soup-diet empty. I am how-dare-you-tell-my-unbroken-teenage-self-that-she-was-chubby starving fucking hungry; and I will eat what the fuck I want.
The Tideline
When you say ‘are you sure?’ to a hungry, perimenopausal, Gen X woman about to order chips, this is what she’s really thinking! (And for my American pals, we’re not talking crisps here, we’re not even talking fries, we’re talking steak fries, preferably with mayonnaise and possibly with cheese!)
I am a poet, author and journalist looking for defiant hope in the intersections between nature and culture. If you enjoyed this poem, subscribe for more…
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Yes!!!!