My early days with junk food
When we got home from junior school,
Mum was still working. We would go
to the cupboard where multi-packs
of Fine Fare’s basic crisps were sorted
into old shoe boxes, one for each child.
Although Mum said those should last the week,
on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, unsupervised,
we crammed crisps in our gobs, bag
after bag. We were so hungry. We ate
whole packets of ginger nuts, too. One more,
then another, always one more. Never satisfied
while other people’s kids sat with Mum
in our front room, where the piano was,
stumbling over the scales they never practised.
Edinburgh-based Jay Whittaker has published two poetry collections with Cinnamon Press, Sweet Anaesthetist (2020) and her Saltire Award winning debut Wristwatch (2017). Other publications include Poetry Review, The London Magazine, The Scotsman, Ink Sweat & Tears, Butcher’s Dog, The Rialto, The North, Fourteen Poems and the Bloodaxe anthology Staying Human. www.jaywhittaker.uk @jaywhittapoet