30. Chips

Out of the paper bag

Comes the hot breath of the chips

And I shall blow on them

To stop them burning my lips.

Before I leave the counter

The woman shakes

Raindrops of vinegar on them

And salty white flakes.

Outside, the frosty pavements

Are slippery as a slide

But the chips and I feel

Warm and good inside.

                             Stanley Cook