Supper’s over.
Who wants pudd? It’s understood: I
would! I would!
Alas, I'm diabetic,
so…all normal helpings must forego.
‘Twould be, for
me, the height of folly, as arrives the pastry trolley,
to ingest one
morsel more than minimum. Thus, I
ask for…
one axion of
apple pie. One bite of baklava.
One crumb of
carrot cake. One dwarfling’s dab of dacquoise – ah-h-h-hh.
One element of
Entenman’s. One fermion of flan.
One grain of
German choc’late cake. (Why? Just because I can.)
One hint of
halva. Imagawayaki? One iota.
One jot of jam,
one kiss of Krispy Kreme topped with ricotta,
plus just one lick
of laddoo (just the one: one’s been my quota).
One morselette
of macaroon. Of nougat? Just one niggle.
Oladui? Just
one ort, not two: no room have I for wiggle.
One particle of
petit four. One quark of queijadinha.
One radion of Rocky
Road. (I’ll pass on the farina.)
One
smidgeonelle of sachertorte. One
tittle of taiyaki.
One up quark of
the upside-down cake. (Pray it’s not too chalky.)
One very –
vanishingly very – trivi’l vial of vla,
unless the vla be
bland and blah -- (that’s ever been its flaw).
One whispering
of Whoopie Pie. One extract ot ximago.
And, though I’m
not a Glarus Swiss, one yin of your sapsago.
And zero of the
zabajone – zero's quite enough.
Then top it off
with treacle toffee…and…Marshmallow Fluff.
