Out of the box
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They were all different. When you raised the lid The first dark wave of chocolate broke, but hid The Spanish lemons, nougat crisp as France, The English hazel and the heady chance That alcohol would drop into your mouth Raw smoke of whisky, Chartreuse from the South. Milk chocolates came from small shops, a sweet silt. The North, the Quaker chocolate makers, built Good houses for the men, made chocolate plain, One dark safe sin to lure you back again. Then subtler friends produced the slim Swiss box With tiny shells, ripe taste of apricots. Brief Christmas Eden? Wait. Here comes the snake, Praline, brown bubbling hell all factories make, Which trickles on us from a glittered waste Of wrapping - Deluxe - Belgian - but one paste Disguised as truffles, whorls, as blank as night Drowns cherries, nuts, rose-bright Turkish Delight. A tiny loss, not one to cry While children wither, old men die, And yet a loss, handful of scents A bouquet clasped each year by sense. Time to scrub celery, reflect On nut trees felled, on orchards wrecked, How each delight, distinct in name, Rotted my good teeth just the same. by Alison Brackenbury |