The freshly battered chip shop

saveloy drips its grease

slowly across my yesterday’s news

face, a picture, I hoped,

of intrigue and stately poise,

preserving in time a pose

that will adorn a thousand books,

now already out of time,

already an article

lost to the age of the once staple

and not rationed meal, eat

your fill, no coupon required

and let the batter fill your heart

completely and forever, whilst

the day I appeared in my local paper

is remembered for placing

the scrag ends and half polished

off mushy peas in place.

Ian D. Hall 2018