Chip chip

Birds follow my commuting train

And measure with me to the south

In this rainy day.

Their voices are far,

their wings looking for adventure in the lab,

My hands in a bag of chips

Fitted for breakfast.

Fries ode

Tent and steaming,
Golden like the sun,
Fries condense joy of life and child-like behaviours.
Fingers are sticky,
oily stains on my dress,
And a bunch of fries
Like wedding bouquet
in my hands.