Like Bubonic Plague doth spread my grin,

As a  single chip, I grasp and  take.

My mouth I open, my stomach aches

Every second is closer to heaven.

Alas, I rise and open mine eyes, before the feast could even begin.

My dream was but a  horrid hoax, a tasteless tease, a fraud,  a fake;

And so this great nightmare  waxes reality when reluctantly I must awake.

I miss the land of  Canada, for still I long for their crispy thins.

I wish in America, we had the pleasure of gorging on that tasteful treasure

Of Ketchup Pringles, for better snack I’ve yet to acquire.

And so for years I’ve yet to satisfy, whether in play, work, or leisure

That burning fire which has long been my heart’s greatest desire.