Sherbet Lemons

Sherbet Lemons.

Carrying you I yearned for sherbet lemons:
sticky suspense, then splitting them open,
poking my tongue around and inside,
sucking out lemon dust, their acid burst
prickling my waiting mouth.

When the bag, brown or white, was empty,
I'd turn it inside out, check
for tell-tale broken lemon specks,
lick the paper wet. As I grew larger
I'd send him out for more. He'd scour the streets

at midnight, drain fleapit kiosks dry.
When asked, he'd shrug, say...it was
no big deal, that your grandmother
had eaten coal. By next time,
I was too tired for midnight cravings.