They’ll bring you a long spoon, a goblet of decorated cream, whipped up, smoothed over. Lying beneath, a multi-layered regimen of flavours, each stripe distinct. Dig in. Let the cherry stain the peach, peach invade the berry. Soon the confection seeps.
It takes a long spoon to sup with the devil. Slide each gobbet up the side, scoop the slurry that remains till there’s only the smear of assassination, a lick of Archduke clouding the glass.
Jill Sharp is a member of Swindon’s BlueGate Poets and works as an associate lecturer with the Open University. One of Jill’s poems appeared last year on the LA Times’s Rhyme and Reason page and a poetry pamphlet, Ye gods, is forthcoming from Indigo Dreams.