Potato chips & Poetry
Potato chips and poetry share a strange and wonderful similarity: both are small, seemingly simple things that hold unexpected depth. A chip, thin and crisp, carries a universe of flavor in each bite—salt, oil, earth, crunch. Poetry does the same with words, distilling emotions and stories into something concise yet powerful. Both remind us that even the smallest things can leave a lasting impression….
There’s something poetic in the way a potato chip crumbles. Each bite is unique, unpredictable, like the rhythm of free verse. You never know where the next crackle will lead you, much like how the turn of a phrase in a poem can surprise you, make you pause, or even make you smile.
Chips are also moments of indulgence. You don’t eat them because you have to—you eat them because they bring a fleeting kind of joy. Poetry is the same. You don’t read a poem for practical reasons; you read it because, for a moment, it connects you to something deeper—yourself, someone else, or the world.
There’s beauty in how potato chips are made, too. A plain potato, so ordinary, transforms under heat and pressure into something irresistible. Poetry works the same way. A poet takes the raw material of life—grief, love, hope, boredom—and, through careful crafting, turns it into something meaningful, something that lingers.
And then there’s the sharing. A bag of chips passed around feels like the communal experience of reading poetry aloud. Each person takes what they need, whether it’s a handful of chips or a single line of verse. Both are meant to be savored, not rushed, reminding us to slow down and enjoy the little things.
Perhaps the most striking connection is that neither chips nor poetry tries to be more than they are. A chip is unapologetically a chip—simple, imperfect, delightful. A good poem is the same, free of pretension, offering only its honest self. Together, they teach us to find wonder in the ordinary, one bite or one line at a time.
