I pull you from the oven and admire your magnificence:
A perfect portion of edible Christmas.
Sparkling with crunchy sugar,
Just beginning to melt.
Your aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg fills the room;
Juicy sultanas, glacé cherries and cranberries,
Infused with brandy and orange.
Unreasonably festive.
Your rich, buttery shortcrust
Is golden, crisp and crumbly;
No soggy bottoms here.
A triumph of seasonal engineering.
I crown you with a reckless dollop of brandy cream,
And break into you with my fork,
Catching my breath as your plump vine fruits
And candied peel burst forth
In an indecent explosion of spice and cheer.
Then I push all that disgusting mincemeat to the side,
Scoop up a giant mouthful of pastry and cream
And savour the only part of you worth eating.
BARBED WORDS 