DON’T LAUGH! they can be a
particularly effective partnership
one hand forages a bag
for a fat chip while the other
waves in the air before
forging a phrase on paper
in tandem my greasy left
swipes crumbs off the page
smears two words into a
new idea for the right to write
then a five-fingered salt lick
creates enough pause to connect
two stanzas as fried flakes fall
onto my shirt and lap
when the whole chips are gone
it’s the three-fingered pinch
near the end of the poem
where timing is critical
I shake the bag into my hand
munch the last of the nonsense
tongue a loose letter
raise my oily pen and swallow
the last line often excavated
from a crack in the cushion
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