A Potatoe Chip

a poem by Westly Alexander Shaw, USA

Potato Chip, Potato Chip, toasted the
perfect crispy tan.
With ridges that form ruffles space so
even, as if tiny ocean waves.
With the salty taste of the sea,
and just a hint of cheese.
Formed in the shape of a circle with
a rough texture of sandpaper, as I chew
on my tongue.
I tear open the bag, and I just cannot
stop at just one!

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