Mr Griffin the baker
wrapped the still warm loaf
in a brown paper bag.
The tantalizing yeasty aroma
of freshly baked bread
tickled and tweaked my five year old nose.
I walked away from his battered old blue van
with an overwhelming temptation
to bite the corner from the crusty delicacy;
all fear of a stinging behind forgotten
as the delightful smell crept further and further
up my nostrils to tease the pleasure zones of my brain.
Once bitten, chewed, savoured and swallowed
realization of the sin committed
became immense and unforgivable.
I crept through the back door,
slid the mutilated evidence of my crime
onto the kitchen table
and legged it up the stairs and into my bed
yet hoping to avoid the red bottom.
I fell asleep to the distant drone
of ‘Dick Barton Special Agent’ on the wireless;
waking only briefly as gentle hands
took off my dungarees and tucked me in for the night.