What can we do?

Picnic on home-grown

Peas, post pamphlets predicting

Armageddon from fossil fuels,

Pay some banks some more

Peanuts to bet on African

Rain while cheap flights

Heat home for tea,

And guess what’s left?

Fish, freshly boiled in the sea.

Fish ‘n Chips

I will take one chip.

I am dipping it in

Mushy peas and I

Am pairing it with

Haddocked batter.

I will crunch gold

Through its tuber

Sponge till it runs

Thickly sweet down

My gloating gullet.

I will hold the other

Chips in their card

Board box and let the

Warmth pervade my

Ready knees uncrossed.

I will look across

The park rarely,

Keeping focussed on

The place of warmth

Bought from the chippy,

Worth its weight in time,

Each chip at least

A few seconds long,

Each crisped hunk of

Fish another golden gong.