From out the closet I now voice

The truth about my drug of choice -

The heroin contained within

The kitchen cupboard’s biscuit tin.

 

For found there is the stuff of dreams

Jammy Dodgers, Custard Creams;

And pinching one will never do

I need to see the packet through,

Then hiding crumbs is common sense

For fear Our Gert finds evidence.

 

From breakfast-time I’ll pin my heart on

Shortbread if it’s Crawford’s Tartan;

This addict’s eyes will never linger

Long on Kit Kats’ siren fingers;

Excitedly my manhood grows

Once it sniffs some Oreos,

Hob Nobs, Clubs or Wagon Wheels.

 

A smackhead knows just how it feels

To gorge upon some fresh home-bakes

Or get your fix of Jaffa Cakes.

 

I know not when these daemons grew

But truly I’m addicted to

The heroin contained within

The kitchen cupboard’s biscuit tin.