Fry’s Chocolate Cream
White paper lit by fine blue print
revealed no nuts or peppermint,
but curve of chocolate, dark as hope,
from which the milky filling broke
a gush, a stream. What was the taste?
Lilac, vanilla, vast white space
Snow Queens would grant if they grew kind.
There body overwhelms the mind.
For I clasped shillings in my purse.
I spent them well, I spent them worse.
I wanted pounds. I could not dream
I would not then want Chocolate Cream.
If you have any comments on this poem, Alison
Brackenbury would be pleased to hear from you.