Ode to a Fat Cake


My love for Fat Cakes developed at a young age.
Dipping in and out of dad’s coats Looking for change to make my secret purchase. Finding four quarters was a score,
I only needed one more...GOTCHYA, another quarter in the old smelly hunting jacket.
Is that pheasant blood on the jacket? No worries.
Soon, all of my sense will be twirling in delight.
I will have my fat cakes by my side.
Turning them over in their packaging before ripping the plastic off.
Dumping them upside down like two delectable bundt cakes.
Making them last for as long as I can.
Ah, sweet consumption.
Happiness floods me.
Then, as they settle in my belly,
I think to myself, Am I becoming a Fat Cake?
Depression.

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