You are working
well tonight
you girls
at the
Chip Shop Allegro
this Friday
evening
and
men, dark
bears, stand
clawpaws
in pockets
waiting for
service
issuing instructions
more onions
please
to you three
scurrying squirrels
who
shovel
chips into paper wraps
shear
spiced
meat coils from
gas
flamed skewers
into warm split pitta
toss
sausages battered
and plain
and golden
sizzling haddock and cod
into the
glass-fronted hot cabinet
only to
tong them out again
moments
later and
rest them
on
polystyrene trays
piled
high with fries
next to blue
plastic forks
and jealous eyes
of the back of
the queue grizzlies
watch
while the
vittles diminish
there
behind
the steamed
greasy panes
and they
lick
their lips
as they
wait for chips
at the shakers
of salt
and the
bottles
of malt and
small
packets of ketchup
in plastic
baskets
next to the
Marie Curie
collecting
tin
and your long
hair in a lank
hank
multi-banded
ponytail
protrudes
from your baseball cap
and flaps
at your
back
as you push
your hot damp bangs
out of
your eyes
with the soft
white side
of your arm
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