Chocolate Sonnet

You always said you’d sooner chew nettles

than touch anything branded by Nestlé,

that a hand-grenade of barbed calories

nestled within each bite of Cadbury’s,

so bring on the celery.  And a slice

of cake was suicide, and sugar mice

were a tensed trap, and truffles could be wrapped

any which way, were still turf slightly warped. 

Eat junk?  You might as well rummage through bins,

barefaced as a Buddhist monk.  Enough buns

and you’ll look like you’ve one in the oven.

Teacakes were taboo.  I wasn’t even

allowed to bring up the subject of Lindt.

All of which left just me.  You gave that up for Lent.