When I recall
my first taste of chocolate
it smacks of your seed cake
with almonds neatly layered on top.
It was a treat on Saturday after piano practise
one thin slab on a white china plate
choked down with a glass of milk.
Penance
but I never told you.
I remember your madness
when I came home from Mulligan’s
told you they had shop-bought cake
a triangle of marbled sweetness;
Battenberg.
They had sliced pan too;
white and fluffy
and on Fridays fish and chips
lashed with salt and vinegar
wrapped in old newspaper.
I used to stand outside the chipper
watching people queue
hungered to be like them.
You beat me senseless.
The cane snapped in two
as you yelped and wailed
that they were common and poor
and shop-bought
was a sin.
I lost all interest in food
spent years in therapy
learning how to eat.