Candy was an impecunious woman who did not have enough to eat.
She was called The Welfare Deposit for donations went to her.
Her vacant purse never could fetch the ostentatious clothed menu
Loafing on bedazzling table settings, fine cutlery and white napkins.
Could people really use those? Why and whatever for?
She didn’t know what a true feast had meant.
Her thoughts of it were only in dreams,
For it was just pondering far heavenly to be.
So those dreams had the poached salmon fillet in the lemon sauce
With luscious greens and sublime blendered mash whispering of
A faint memory of tucking into tarty salmon when her father was alive.
Then lately it was the steaks which was a medium well
Again, why was there a medium she couldn’t tell
It was probably of medium temperature right for her tongue.
Or cooked to take on the well and healthy “medium” of communication.
In kitchens she wondered how chefs adorned the plates
To make palatable textures and colors dance.
She saw and salivate at restaurant windows,
Whole families with their little ones chop and chomp
To juicy squirts of meats around flowery broccoli strings,
Soups smelling like lobsters took smokes in heady brews
They sat and enjoyed the spoons, licking residues in reverie
Waiters had the piping tray of pies coming their way it
Was cloud nine but Candy was cloud ten and none.
Cloud ten for she saw the joy of others to their food a fantasia,
Cloud none for she could not deign to have them.
Why was she named Candy when life was stained hand-me-downs,
Outdated belongings and rations which helped her live but
Sweetness shall and must evaporate by her sprig.
- Vander