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This poem is taken from PN Review 139, Volume 27 Number 5, May - June 2001.

Poems Caroline Bird

Gingerbread House

He smelt of 'fresh from the oven' adulthood,
his tongue on the hinge of his lips, his eyes spinning
with sex and cinnamon as he invited you in.
You gazed with wonder at his gingerbread house,
rocking back on your heels with childish delight.
You took a long drag on your lollypop stick
then flicked it away.
Later you spat it all back out to your friends,
showed them the goodies you'd brought back
hidden underneath your tongue. You licked
their pink bedrooms with your knowledge,
spread your laughter thumb deep on their walls,
tasted the irony on your teeth.

Look little children, come peek at the trail of bread,
look how the teeth marks are still fresh
...


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