A Minor History of Potato Chips

By TINA CANE 

Ray Liotta was listening     to tapes of Henry Hill talking     through a mouth 

full of potato chips     to the FBI     around the same time I     high and hunched 

over a bowl of Lucky Charms     was listening to my father     lecture me on sex     

at 2 o’clock in the morning         home early from his shift     to have the talk     

his friends had urged him to give     pacing and waving his hands     I have to be 

a mother and a father he said     as he spoke of love     the importance of it     

when it came to     

                               rolling my eyes     crunching the hard marshmallow clovers     

like so many potato chips     I tried to muffle my hunger for other things     

a new bike     a bigger room     better boys     and since I didn’t get any of them     

what I really want now     is for Ray Liotta     to be writing this poem for me     

to be reading this poem to you     for him to say     how my dad said     

It’s alright roll your eyes     Love will be more important 

than you think     Especially for you 

 

Tina Cane is founder/director of Writers-in-the-Schools, RI, and serves as poet laureate of Rhode Island. Her books include Once More with Feeling, Body of Work, and Year of the Murder Hornet. Her novel-in-verse for young adults, Alma Presses Play, was released in 2021.

[Purchase Issue 25 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

A Minor History of Potato Chips

Related Posts

New York City skyline

Lawrence Joseph: New Poems

LAWRENCE JOSEPH
what we do is // precise and limited, according to / the Minister of Defense, // the President / is drawing a line, // the President is drawing / a red line, we don’t want to see  / a major ground assault, the President says, / it’s time for this to end, / for the day after to begin, he says, // overseer of armaments procured

rebecca on a dock at sunset

Late Orison

REBECCA FOUST
You & I will grow old, Love, / we have grown old. But this last chance // in our late decades could be like the Pleiades, winter stars seen by / Sappho, Hesiod & Galileo & now by you & me. // Let us be boring like a hollow drill coring deep into the earth to find / its most secret mineral treasures.

Waiting for the Call I Am

WYATT TOWNLEY
Not the girl / after the party / waiting for boy wonder // Not the couple / after the test / awaiting word // Not the actor / after the callback / for the job that changes everything // Not the mother / on the floor / whose son has gone missing // I am the beloved / and you are the beloved