The children and adults eat
a slab of decadent chocolate.
The slab is actually candy, sometimes its smooth,
sometimes brittle.
The Magnum smiles at each
of them. The slabs that lay on the shelve
glitter like new toy cars, and
dressed-up dolls.
The parlor drizzles the dressing
with closed hands on the ice-cream.
The kids lick their food-laden fingers
like tomorrow might never see the hues
night could bring.
The children ogle the raindrops on
the frosty glass of milk; they are to have.
They know what they should and
should not do.
Some of their eyes brim the way
toddlers make-up them on parties, and
ceremonial invites.
Most of them shatter them, like glass
between the teeth in their mouth – They
try to avoid mornings red gum.
The varieties that are encountered , isn’t
liked by all – not now, or forever.
Dis-tasters distrust what they want to; even
caramels and toffees refuse to mix
with such company.
The companies house everything, making
little children gaze with red eyes
Rishan Singh is a writer based in Durban, South Africa. His poems have been published in South Africa and overseas. He received the Golden Key International Award for academic excellence in 2008