Poetry corner

The aggressive crisp – by Brannigan McCoy

Crisps. Lethal in the wrong hands.

Thrown in anger like a morning star,
The twang of the crisp shattering on my car door,
What brought on this rage from a normal teenager?
Maybe deep-seated reports of shark attack dangers

For this teenager with crisp-dust strewn on upper lip,
Spouting his anger and losing his grip,
Is shouting some nonsense about ‘frumping some chissle’,
That might not be right but it sounded like drivel

So I halted my journey on route to the Vets,
To collect my vole from having its ears reset,
And alighted my vehicle to step to the curb,
To investigate why this teen is perturbed

And then suddenly thought it was only a crisp,
Thrown from his hand with a flick of the wrist,
No matter why this bile came to me with a frown,
I got back in my car and ran the chap down.