chinky chips
By Canonette
- 1484 reads
bitter night when bus stop panes provide no respite
from the scalpel blades of wind borne ice
which slice through your inadequate winter clothes
stone washed denim from Kensington Freak
you bought last summer on Dudley High Street
you shun overcoats, jumpers, scarves and hat
worry that bulky layers will make you look fat
though you weigh six stone and are skin and bone
your jeans are drainpipes shrunk in the bath
but the cloth is thin and you’ll find your legs beneath
look like tinned corned beef when you get back in
you’ve clubbed together for some chinky chips
and you offer them round to the rest of the kids
though this steaming helping is double bagged
the grease will cling to your teenage skin and
you’ll smell like the most delicious thing that’s ever been
can you taste their salt lard on your fingers now
feel the sweet sour lube of them in your hands
do you wince at their burn on your tipsy tongue
are they all you long for when the weather’s cold
though the chinky’s gone now and we’ve all grown old
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Comments
So
good to read something of yours. Funnily enough, the year of Teenage Kicks ('77) would have been when I used to get chips from the Chinese. Sometimes, we'd call for Alice Leung on the way to VIth Form College. Her parents owned a takeaway and her mum would make us spring rolls for breakfast.
Nostalgia is a powerful thing, and probably a writer's second best resource. Talent is in first place, luckily you have plenty of that.
Splendid. I can smell the chips now.
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Just to give a different perspective
Just to give a different perspective, I never called them chinky chips when I was a teenager because I was constantly being referred to as a paki and so I felt empathetic towards other people who experienced racism and 'chinky' seemed to me as bad as 'paki'. Plus I often saw the staff in the chinese takeaway being harassed by drunken, aggressive racist teenagers which really made me angry. Although I liked their chips alot (My dad usually got chinese takeaway for free because he was the GP of the family who owned our local chinese takeaway and chinese people don't charge their doctors) so I'm not denying the deliciousness of chinese chips but the word chinky always sounded wrong to my ears.
Even the childrens skipping game with rubber bands, that was called 'chinkies' and as a kid it made me cringe.
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authenticity demands our
authenticity demands our unkind self are shown in our grubby clothes. I'm with Cannonette on that one. And this reaks of authenticity to me.
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