Custard Tarts**

A mouthful of sweetness
yellow;
crust;
chewed slowly, savoring
and the mind goes back
along olfactory pathways
etched long ago
back to turbulent times
of teenage years
and custard tarts, with cinnamon sprinkles
your Dad brought home for Saturday lunch
after working,
trying to keep a bankrupt business afloat
plugging the holes of ineptitude
as the ship sank lower week by week.
A sliver was handed out with the coffee
devoured by all at the table
not much else to remember
except the coldness, the distant demeanor
a start contrast to the warmth of the pies
made with love at the bakers
custard tarts, now and then
sweet!

Malcolm Davidson December 18, 2013