I am being haunted by cake.
In the morning when I wake,
I can taste it on the tip of my tongue
I’m woken to the smell of coffee and toffee cakes,
of lemon drizzle, chocolate puddings, red-velvet, ice-cream, battenberg…
but it’s all in my imagination after six hours of fasting,
the day has barely begun and it’s frosting that I’m craving,
I’ve had nightmares of being ruled by Queen Victoria sponges
and day dreamed in fear of black forest gateaux lunches,
when I leave the house, it’s all that I see,
there’s no safe place to run, no cake-less place to flee,
They sit on the window sills of the shop window
and watch my every move
and follow me with their aroma,
the scents of the sweetest and tastiest of foods
deliciously attempting to seduce my starving mood,
a delectably placed slice has my eyes glued,
They stare at me with their sprinkles, freshly lit
candles, begging, pleading, demanding, “eat me, eat me!”
My empty stomach rumbles on, tempting me for a bite,
were I not fasting, eating all 23 cakes would be a delight,
just then comes along a friend, with a bakers touch
after hours in a kitchen, they’ve made a cupcake lunch
They want me to try just one little piece,
‘I’m fasting’ I say, when will this torture cease?
There’s no sanctuary when I head to the mosque running
the imam is dressed in the colours of a sticky toffee pudding,
I must be hallucinating, because when I get back home
there’s a cake in the garden in the shape of a gnome,
I’ve thought about cake through morning and afternoon
so much so that my watering mouth has started a monsoon,
as the time finally comes for my fast to be broken
out comes an enormous cake, that’s spent all day hidden away
but I’ve already had three samosas and I must admit,
“I’m much too full to eat even one little bit.”