The Plastic Spoon

The taste of plastic in my mouth lingered until the day you said
my kisses tasted of passion fruit

After my father threw himself off the balcony on the 31st floor /
my mother never washed another silver spoon / her heart and hands
too busy to bother with such trivialities / instead consumed by
the task of sheltering exposed bodies

But the kids at school could smell my plastic breath and laughed /

My paper rounds paid for chocolate on Sundays /
and trips to nowhere in particular during summer holidays /
my clever mind and my mother’s stokes and pokes
drove me through college

Still, the taste of plastic on my tongue diddled silly doodles /
the fear of heights stuck on / until the day

you said my breath tasted of passion fruit