Lunch extravaganza

Brown paper already giving up,

grease pushing through

until it shines against my palm.

Smoked sausage.

Chips.

Shake of salt that lands on my coat, my sleeve,the pavement,most of it finding the chips anyway.

Then vinegar.

Not poured.

Launched.

Hitting the paper first,

dark circles spreading,

steam lifting sharp,

nose pinching aroma

that makes your mouth start

before your teeth have agreed.

First bite burns.

Too hot.

Still worth it.

Potato collapsing into fluff,

edges snapping,

salt catching on cracked lips.

Sausage leaves pepper,

smoke,

fat,

all of it hanging about

long after it’s swallowed.

Wagon rattles through.

Bag opens its mouth.

Grabbing it before lunch joins the traffic.

Across the road, handful of people offer free Bibles.

Kind smiles.

Fresh covers.

I shake my head,

still chewing. No Thank you !!

Smell of vinegar follows me instead. Brimstone

Workers pass.

Nobody asks.

No Need, eyes keep falling

Paper bag,

steam,

Fingers already shining

Grease that refuses napkins and sticks to hips,

settling into fingerprints,

asking to be licked clean.

Through the office doors.

Smell arrives, wafting

Salt.

Hot oil.

Smoked sausage.

Chip shop folded into one paper bag.

Shut the door. Be luxurious

Music up.

Chair back.

Keyboard can wait.

Grease, globules on fingertips

Eat

Then write,

leaving faint marks of food joy on keys

proof

lunch happened.