A Box of Chocolate
I ate the chocolate
I knew you hid it
behind the cheese crackers
in the corner cupboard.
It tasted of superheroes,
beauty pageants, Olympic medals.
It melted on my tongue
into celebrity.
A zero-size, tree-tall,
front-cover, magazine model.
Then I swallowed.
Reached for more.
Until my fingers felt only paper.
I ate the chocolate.
It settles in my belly,
making me suffocate under
a phantom circus parachute.
I have celebrity
with a hall of mirrors.
A rolly-polly attraction.
That’s how the room sees me.
I won’t eat the chocolate.
Ever.
I found the chocolate
behind a cup of soup
in the corner cupboard.
I knew you put it there.
Under the circus parachute.
The crowd thinks
I’m the cannon bomb.
Set to explode.
Maybe I should.