A Minor History of Potato Chips

By TINA CANE 

Ray Liotta was listening     to tapes of Henry Hill talking     through a mouth 

full of potato chips     to the FBI     around the same time I     high and hunched 

over a bowl of Lucky Charms     was listening to my father     lecture me on sex     

at 2 o’clock in the morning         home early from his shift     to have the talk     

his friends had urged him to give     pacing and waving his hands     I have to be 

a mother and a father he said     as he spoke of love     the importance of it     

when it came to     

                               rolling my eyes     crunching the hard marshmallow clovers     

like so many potato chips     I tried to muffle my hunger for other things     

a new bike     a bigger room     better boys     and since I didn’t get any of them     

what I really want now     is for Ray Liotta     to be writing this poem for me     

to be reading this poem to you     for him to say     how my dad said     

It’s alright roll your eyes     Love will be more important 

than you think     Especially for you 

 

Tina Cane is founder/director of Writers-in-the-Schools, RI, and serves as poet laureate of Rhode Island. Her books include Once More with Feeling, Body of Work, and Year of the Murder Hornet. Her novel-in-verse for young adults, Alma Presses Play, was released in 2021.

[Purchase Issue 25 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

A Minor History of Potato Chips

Related Posts

Contrail across blue sky

July 2025 Poetry Feature: New Poems by our Contributors

GEOFFREY BROCK
Sing, O furrow-browed youth, / of the contrails scoring the sky, / bright as lines of cocaine / until, as they age, the eye // loses them to the blue… / Sing of the thin-skinned plane / that made those ephemeral clouds, / and of all that each contains: // the countless faceless strangers

Fenway Park

Before They Traded Devers

AIDAN COOPER
I don’t know I’m not paying attention I’m crunching / peanut shells thinking Murakami began to write novels / because of baseball why don’t I / my dad’s grumpy / I’m vegetarian now & didn’t want a frank & yes it’s probably / a phase he’s probably right but it’s a good phase

Cover of All Is The Telling by Rosa Castellano

An Embodied Sense of Time: Raychelle Heath Interviews Rosa Castellano

ROSA CASTELLANO
I’m holding a blank page all the time for myself. That’s a truth that I choose to believe in: the blank page is a tool for our collective liberation. It can be how we keep going. I love that we can find each other on the page and heal each other, too. So, I invoke that again and again, for myself, because I need it.