The Life of a French Fry

A brand-new potato

grew and got sent

to a factory where they make

golden-brown, crispy-on-the-outside

and soft-on-the-inside, French fries.

I, the almost perfect French fry,

am getting fried as we speak.

It doesn't hurt, it's like you're

in a hot tub filled with your relatives.

Ding!

As the cook grabs me out of the fryer

I get served on a fancy plate

with a side of salad—my mortal enemy.

I start to fall asleep not knowing

I was about to get eaten alive

by a starving giant.

I, the French fry, am woken

by getting picked up and dipped

head first into a pool of ketchup.

I was horrified, but before I could say anything,

it was too late. I was blinded by redness.

I didn't know what was coming next

until I heard a crunch.