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Amy Wiggin

I ate the last slice of cake
at night on my own.
The fridge light a beacon,
my blurry eyes fixed on that
fudgy sweet piece
waiting on a plate.

The Devil’s Food Cake
looked up at my greed.
A candle still stuck on its head
like a horn as I thought
of my birthdays
from years ago.

I remember
sneaking downstairs for a treat
whilst my parents were asleep.
I ate my cake with cold custard.
It was a school night.
Ignoring the passing of time.

The clock struck midnight.
My dream cut clean like a slice.
The thick folds of icing,
The pores and lines
and crumbs on the side
were a mirror
to my ageing face.

Then I remembered
the custard
leftover in the fridge.
I tried to pretend
my parents asleep upstairs
like it was a school night.
I ate the cake with cold custard.
So sweet, so cold.