Let us go then, you and I,
To the fish and chip shop to buy ourselves eel pie,
Let us go and get the one with short-crust pastry,
Like a halibut laid out too hastily,
In the room where the fishwives come and go,
Talking of their cousin Joe,
Oh do not ask for extra peas,
Let us go and eat our macaroon by Lees.
Our suppers grow cold, they grow cold,
Even though we had the wrapper double rolled,
And shall I have the special fish?
Can I risk a hot mock chop?
I have heard the fryers whispering in the back shop.
I do not think that they will fry for me,
For I have seen my pudding supper laid out upon a platter,
I am no chipaholic, here is no great matter,
But as if the chip shop telly shows the saveloys in widescreen DVD,
I wrap my fragrant parcel and take it home for tea.
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved