I want chocolate cake.
nested within near eggshell thin bakery
pink cardboard woven into confusing flaps
testing youth’s eager appetite.
two halves of existence. one side cake,
one side me. that is to say cake and
everything not-cake. including me.
even learned the rightmost recipe for
being marooned alone at home with cake.
half-glass grapes & velveta cheese
gives a convincing ill performance,
mom, I really should stay home today.
earnestly, just to nibble right from the box!
oh, but that’s forgetting mother’s hindsight
from my forks reluctant retreat. thus
were neat slices invented to confound
one truth. more than this boy’s motto,
what isn’t chocolate might just kill you.
neil reid © april 2012
For We Write Poems, prompt #101, although cake not pie.