I am driven to annoyance
By chips that have lost their identity,
Due to the neglect of an unforgiving world,
Why my stomach yearns for the cheap imitation of nourishment,
I am brought before a slightly crumpled golden bag
My beacon of light in a dim world...
The first chip ingested brings an aurora of puzzlement with it,
The realization of the situation is initiated
I heed the sirens call "betcha can't eat just one"
I curse at the mocking irony
I search again for a slice of spud,
I survey my prey,
Perhaps to lean of its true nature,
At once it is gone,
The crunch again is accompanied by a light pull
Truth arrives like the sting of salt on my lips,
Mercy it seems is for the weak...
And to think anything with barbecue could be brought to such shame,
I am left standing with only the garbage in my sight,
And in my thoughts with dreams of thins that never were...