By Carol Ann Duffy
Into the half-pound box of Moonlight
my small hand crept.
There was an electrifying rustle.
There was a dark and glamorous scent.
Into my open, moist mouth
the first Montelimar went.
Down in the crinkly second layer,
five finger-piglets snuffled,
among the Hazelnut Whirl,
the Caramel Square,
the Black Cherry and Almond Truffle.
I chomped. I gorged.
I stuffed my face,
till only the Coffee Cream
was left for the owner of the box –
tough luck, Anne Pope –
oh, and half an Orange Supreme.