Deserted deserts deserve better than to walk the night,
walk the daytime alone, without dessert to make the
night chill heavier, the stomach full of berries,
chocolate and such remedies for lightness of being.
To try to make it from scratch is the last thing on the
mind of people deserted for less than a from scratch
recipe, the favorite of island dwellers left in state.
Walking to make a better dessert, for cake, walking
purposely takes all or nothing, the gaiety of life that
can spell doom for the fallen cake, the fallen night,
the skies so clear in sand, watching the sun fall,
but fall so closely to sink, water, baking soda of
all that harbor grief, to make a sense of it better
than the next report that we watch.
So it is that the finished product is worthy of reality,
but none of us would leave a layered cake to itself,
without garment or fork for choosing the next bite,
leaving ice cream as an avenue that many would
disregard, ignore to the peril of icing that breeds
cover, covering deserts with unlikely moss,
travails that match wits with a bunt cake.
© 2015 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.