My Chocolate Fix…

This week is my final week of my Dechox and I have to admit, I’ve been more tempted to have a sneaky nibble on any kind of chocolate flavoured item than I have since I started this on the 1st March! So, instead of giving in to temptation, I thought I’d share this fantastic poem by Michael Rosen to feed my cravings. I’ve loved this poem for many years. No heavy analysis, just pure unadulterated chocolate pleasure! Enjoy!!

Chocolate Cake (courtesy of Poemhunter.com)

I love chocolate cake. 
And when I was a boy 
I loved it even more. 

Sometimes we used to have it for tea 
and Mum used to say, 
‘If there’s any left over 
you can have it to take to school 
tomorrow to have at playtime.’ 
And the next day I would take it to school 
wrapped up in tin foil 
open it up at playtime 
and sit in the corner of the playground 
eating it, 
you know how the icing on top 
is all shiny and it cracks as you 
bite into it, 
and there’s that other kind of icing in 
the middle 
and it sticks to your hands and you 
can lick your fingers 
and lick your lips 
oh it’s lovely. 
yeah. 

Anyway, 
once we had this chocolate cake for tea 
and later I went to bed 
but while I was in bed 
I found myself waking up 
licking my lips 
and smiling. 
I woke up proper. 
‘The chocolate cake.’ 
It was the first thing 
1 thought of. 

I could almost see it 
so I thought, 
what if I go downstairs 
and have a little nibble, yeah? 

It was all dark 
everyone was in bed 
so it must have been really late 
but I got out of bed, 
crept out of the door 

there’s always a creaky floorboard, isn’t there?

Past Mum and Dad’s room, 
careful not to tread on bits of broken toys 
or bits of Lego 
you know what it’s like treading on Lego 
with your bare feet, 

yowwww 
shhhhhhh 

downstairs 
into the kitchen 
open the cupboard 
and there it is 
all shining. 

So I take it out of the cupboard 
put it on the table 
and I see that 
there’s a few crumbs lying about on the plate, 
so I lick my finger and run my finger all over the crumbs 
scooping them up 
and put them into my mouth. 

oooooooommmmmmmmm 

nice. 

Then 
I look again 
and on one side where it’s been cut, 
it’s all crumbly. 

So I take a knife 
I think I’ll just tidy that up a bit, 
cut off the crumbly bits 
scoop them all up 
and into the mouth 

oooooommm mmmm 
nice. 

Look at the cake again. 

That looks a bit funny now, 
one side doesn’t match the other 
I’ll just even it up a bit, eh? 

Take the knife 
and slice. 
This time the knife makes a little cracky noise 
as it goes through that hard icing on top. 

A whole slice this time, 

into the mouth. 

Oh the icing on top 
and the icing in the middle 
ohhhhhh oooo mmmmmm. 

But now 
I can’t stop myself 
Knife – 
1 just take any old slice at it 
and I’ve got this great big chunk 
and I’m cramming it in 
what a greedy pig 
but it’s so nice, 

and there’s another 
and another and I’m squealing and I’m smacking my lips 
and I’m stuffing myself with it 
and 
before I know 
I’ve eaten the lot. 
The whole lot. 

I look at the plate. 
It’s all gone. 

Oh no 
they’re bound to notice, aren’t they, 
a whole chocolate cake doesn’t just disappear 
does it? 

What shall 1 do? 

I know. I’ll wash the plate up, 
and the knife 

and put them away and maybe no one 
will notice, eh? 

So I do that 
and creep creep creep 
back to bed 
into bed 
doze off 
licking my lips 
with a lovely feeling in my belly. 
Mmmmrnmmmmm. 

In the morning I get up, 
downstairs, 
have breakfast, 
Mum’s saying, 
‘Have you got your dinner money?’ 
and I say, 
‘Yes.’ 
‘And don’t forget to take some chocolate cake with you.’ 
I stopped breathing. 

‘What’s the matter,’ she says, 
‘you normally jump at chocolate cake?’ 

I’m still not breathing, 
and she’s looking at me very closely now. 

She’s looking at me just below my mouth. 
‘What’s that?’ she says. 
‘What’s what?’ I say. 

‘What’s that there?’ 
‘Where?’ 
‘There,’ she says, pointing at my chin. 
‘I don’t know,’ I say. 
‘It looks like chocolate,’ she says. 
‘It’s not chocolate is it?’ 
No answer. 
‘Is it?’ 
‘I don’t know.’ 
She goes to the cupboard 
looks in, up, top, middle, bottom, 
turns back to me. 
‘It’s gone. 
It’s gone. 
You haven’t eaten it, have you?’ 
‘I don’t know.’ 
‘You don’t know. You don’t know if you’ve eaten a whole 
chocolate cake or not? 
When? When did you eat it?’ 

So I told her, 

and she said 
well what could she say? 
‘That’s the last time I give you any cake to take
to school. 
Now go. Get out 
no wait 
not before you’ve washed your dirty sticky face.’ 
I went upstairs 
looked in the mirror 
and there it was, 
just below my mouth, 
a chocolate smudge. 
The give-away. 
Maybe she’ll forget about it by next week.

by Michael Rosen