With a finger I scooped
the chocolaty goop
from the whisking bowl
into my mouth
The theft was sweetly swift
no time for a spoon,
like gull swooping to nick
your battered fish and chip
The grainy mix a short term fix
while waiting for
that three-tiered treat
but for a second
I returned to apron strings
back to being a kid
at grandma's Sunday knee
while mum went off and hid
Handed whisk, I'd hold it high,
a reward for culinary verve
and licked the twisty
metal clean but for that bit
no tongue could reach.
Joys were simpler then
as I am simple now.
*Dedicated to my grandmother, whose cakes were
among the best I've ever tasted
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