CARNATION MILK. (RE-POST)
We crept downstairs in the dead of night
and crouched in the fridge’s sallow light
to savour hushed and secret sips.
We licked deceit off greedy lips
and put the tin back where it went.
Our yawning infant thirst unspent
we whispered back upstairs to bed.
Now, all childish want is shed
and no forbidden thing as sweet
will spur me like that metal teat.
M.C. Newberry
Fri 23rd Jan 2015 16:55
TB - your own inspiration had me paraphrasing
the opening of a poem by Thomas Hood =
"I remember...I remember
The house where I was born...!"
Cheeky, I know, but it was meant well.