Cookie Jar

 

They stretch across

Full of greedy lips and hands

A broken piece here

A chipped fragment there

Insidiously exhausting

The protesting cookie jar

Each furtive look marked

By a vanishing oatmeal-raisin

Or chocolate macadamia
And when they plunge

Their avaricious tentacles

Down the warm vanilla scented entrance

Scraping knuckles with

Unruffled-cool, impassive terra cotta

Then their sweetened cinnamon breathe

Rots with each obscene expulsion

Their guilty desire unsatisfied,

Greasy digits scrape across the bottom

Sucking up each desiccating crumb.