the last carrot cake

it was undoubtedly

the best cake i had ever tasted,

towers of moist carrot

and sultana sponge

jewelled in cream frosting,

perfectly balanced,

perfectly spiced,

which is why i journeyed

8 long miles

for that one slice

.

and so it sat in its perfect box,

and opulent bag

as we sought our taxi home,

quite by accident and misintention

i turned onto an unfamiliar street

lined with beggars

dissolving rodeo drive

to hollywood boulevard

before my very eyes

.

a woman held my gaze and heart

for an eternity of steps,

as four hungry children

with hollowed faces

slapping her arms,

begging her for food,

wailing in her lap,

she was destitute in body

mind and heart

.

i instinctively knew

not to reach for money,

danger was a reeking stench

where hungry men leered

lurked and preyed my way

gurning greedily

as saliva dripped

from blackened teeth

onto scarred skin

and rags beneath

.

so i handed over

that pristine white bag

with it’s pink ribbon handles

contrasting her

calloused brown skin

torn and ragged,

as she gently received it

her eyes sparkled gratitude

as much as anyone

decaying could

.

never again did i taste that cake

the shop closed its doors

for reasons unknown

i tried others, incomparable

yet i am strangely nourished

by memory of her grateful eyes

as i think of that day

and of how we only truly keep

that which we give away