Sweet Tooth

by Bilal Saloo

The sugary treats and sweets

were never far from my list,

or my fingers that reached

for the sweet jelly lips,

the tips of peppermint candy canes

my crutch to the freeze of my brain,

from ice cream I scream for,

and cherry cola lollies behind the fridge door,

and the little tubes of kali in my breast pocket,

in case I ever run out of my candy lockets.


I had a sweet tooth,

but then I ate it,

I didn’t debate it,

or hesitate on it,

and if you asked me to rate it

I would give it an eight out of ten,

it was a little crunchy for my taste.

I prefer the melt-in-mouth chocolate,

white, milk, dark, a chocolate boot laced

with strands of strawberry, liquorice,

the root of many of my fancies,

and if I were to move on to the boiled varieties,

the pear drops, the fruits, the humbugs and the fishes,

I could talk at length about the different dishes

One could make throughout the day.


But these past sugary substances I bid away,

saving them only for special occasions

for moments of celebrations and quiet congratulations

as I began to feel quite unwell,

when under the hold of this sweet spell

I was, unable to cope without an hourly dose

to keep me from going close to comatose,

nodding off to sleep in the middle of class,

and beginning to grow into a bulging mass,

skipping meals and my teeth of plaque,

against the sugary fiends, I had to turn my back.

I still have the fruits and the pears and the fishes,

but now they’re actual sugarless dishes,

and yes, they exist, they’re not mythical foods,

and they’ve done wonders to my fatigued moods.

So, the moral here is to not to eat in excess,

and try not to eat your sweet tooth at best.

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