Down the stainless, bleach cleaned aisles
Amongst the shelves that run for miles
Behind the tins and the ‘HALF PRICE!’ signs
Past the ready meals, and the wines
Shoved between the drinks and dips
Lies a forlorn little packet of crisps.
Glanced at, dismissed, then thrown down and left
He’s lying there crumpled, abandoned, bereft.
All alone, without even a single friend
To be near when he reaches best- before- end.
His final irony laid stark and bare
This Walkers packet isn’t going anywhere.

There are more like him. In stores up and down
From Waitrose to Lidl, from city to town
There are hopeful crisps, hearts broken each day.
Will you help them? Or will you turn away?
Can you adopt one? Just some love and care
Lets them know that someone is there.
Give what you can. When it comes to the crunch
A crisp packet’s for life; not just for lunch.