Crumbs!


 
Enshrouded in a sulfurous breeze beneath the frangipani,
A sucker for a buttered scone with clotted cream and honey,
I overlook the cloven hooves and horns that crown the head
Of he who has invited me. I have some raisin bread,
 
A macaroon, a Bakewell tart, a lemon fondant fancy,
Another brew (one lump not two). The host seems somewhat antsy.
I’ve heard he lays his guests to rest if etiquette is lacking.
My manners (at their polished best) are sparkling as I’m snacking.
 
Upon a scene-of-Eden plate he serves an apple torte.
I’ll bid adieu. It’s getting late. I do not think I ought
To raise temptation to my lips. It smacks of bygone sin…
Ho hum… yum-yum… resolve has slipped…it seems I’m tucking in.
 
I hear a hiss. It’s time to leave. Beneath the setting sun
I glimpse the fig-leafed ghost of Eve and break into a run
Across the blood-smudged, bone-strewn lawn and through the floral trumpets…
But hurry back… how can I miss his pitchfork-toasted crumpets?

Susan Jarvis Bryant

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan Jarvis Bryant  would be pleased to hear them.