Her dad went fishing
Every Friday afternoon
Brought home a whopper
Fed a family of five.
Her mum cooked chips
In a pan full of batter
With a deep metal basket inside
Made a mess of the kitchen.
She dreamed
Of doing the same
With her kids
Every Friday.
‘I can’t do the fish
And the spuds* at the same time,’ she says.
‘Only got two hands
And twenty-four hours a day.’
She told him to go
In the evenings
Fish from Monday
Don’t wait till Friday.
‘Fish goes off,’ he says.
‘I’ll freeze it,’ she replied.
‘We’ll eat it over time.
I’ll serve it on the clock. Ha ha.
‘What does he do?
Down the pub
Comes back singing
No fish.
‘Me and the kids
We started something new
Hiding the money
And eating fish fingers instead.’
*spuds = potatoes
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