there it is

dying for a small

sweet,

some sort of chocolate,

or perhaps

a miniscule slice

of cake.

a spoon of ice cream,

an oreo cookie,

maybe

a snow cone.

something to satisfy the urge,

the craving

of sugar.

trembling, i search

the fridge,

then forage the ice box

on top.

my personal Siberia

for food that will never be

seen let alone

eaten again.

in the corner, covered

in snow

and ice, i see a small wedge

of something

wrapped in foil.

i dig it out and with a hammer

and chisel break it open,

bring it back to life.

it's cake.

a tiny sliver of wedding cake

from Entenmann's. 

it was that kind of a lame

wedding,

who cares.

into the microwave it goes.

i'm almost there.