Lemon, Then Just Sugar

The craving hit, a sudden sting,

for something sharp and bright.

Grandma's bowl, a yellow thing,

catching kitchen light.

Bought a clear one, in the bin,

thought it would be the same.

Popped it quick, let it begin,

to whisper out her name.

But no, it was just sugar, bland.

A sweet, dull, sticky lie.

Dissolved too fast there in my hand,

no tartness in my eye.

The smooth, hard surface, slick with spit,

no bite behind its sheen.

A simple trick, I should have quit,

what used to be, now mean.