THE FRYER
In the monastery kitchen
in a break with tradition
was a man cooking chips
with a fag in his lips
I was moved to enquire
if he was a friar
To which he replied
with consummate pride:
‘That suggestion’s untrue
it’s one to debunk.
Please let me tell you
I’m a noble chip monk’
-
Author:
Michael Edwards (
Offline) - Published: January 26th, 2025 03:57
- Comment from author about the poem: Probably worth making the point that what we in the UK call chips are known in the USA as fries.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments7
LOL superb 🌹
Splendid! This would also make an excellent cartoon strip 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊
Something to think about - thanks Aeqios
You’re welcome , Michael 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊
An so fish and chips indeed. You know I love limericks and this a great one for a Sunday. Thanks for the smile
My pleasure - have a great day.
Good fry, M. lol.
Miss Berles dad made good chips and she is good at it as well - a chip off the old block.
Lol
Happy Chip Day Michael. LOL
Andy
this is brill & I aint talkin fish .. 😎👍
And on a SCALE of 1 to 10 ? Cheers Neville.
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