Sweet Dreams.

Wrapper on the floor,

Picked it up and unravelled

its tempting secrets.

I bet it tasted of caramel

oozing over the tongue

pushing sugary goodness

through the pores of

their tongue.

I run my finger over the

mountainous terrain,

where the sweet had once

been nestled in a smooth

appealing translucent cover.

It takes me back through time

to that place near where I live

that sold unimaginable amounts

of calories, fat, childlike heaven.

Pick up the paper bag

and carefully fill it with

1p, 2p, 5p, 1p.

With coppery fingers you hand

over the bag which is then

reopened and viciously strewn

across the newsagent’s surface.

Hand over your pocket money,

licking your lips.  

There’s that aforementioned

appeal of the smooth shiny wrapper

and the visible sweet,

tempting you again.

You seemingly unwrap it carefully

but when done with it, screw it

into a ball and throw it on the floor.

That’s what happened to this.

The hope of a life in which a small

child sees you, opens you, takes out

your insides. Throws away the carcass.

Oh to be there again.

in that sweater and polo

uniform, the anticipation of a walk

to school and going to the shops first.

The excitement of that low-down

shelf filled with new things,

jelly beans, chocolate buttons.

I hold that bag over and over again

filling it, filling it, filling it.

Swinging it around a pinched

opening, making a seal of approval.

Only to open it seconds later.

Enjoy that wrapper, peel it delicately. It holds something new, or something old – something you like or haven’t yet tried.

Too soft, too sweet, too crunchy-

you’ve learnt your lesson, it won’t be bought again.