Fallen Sweet

It was just there, a flash of red

and gold, from some forgotten shelf,

at the checkout line, and I grabbed it.

A 'Choc-o-Nut,' just like the ones

I saved my dimes for, after school.

The wrapper crinkled different, somehow,

thinner. I peeled it back,

a bar of dark brown, ridges too perfect.

My mouth remembered something else.

The first bite:

waxy, yes.

But more than that,

a chemical burn, like sugar

that’s been processed too hard,

tried too hard to be what it wasn’t.

It didn't taste like scraped knees

or the smell of damp earth

after rain, or the thrill

of a secret shared. It just tasted

like disappointment,

manufactured. My tongue felt flat.

I threw the rest away.

Some things, you can’t go back to.