I have hidden
the last fraction
of chocolate cake
on a dish,
far back in the fridge,
tented with foil,
behind the
yellow mustard
standing beside
the jar of pickles,
a carton of eggs
sideways arranged,
with a bowl
on top
a stop.

That we have all done this,
placed a craving
in line,
behind saving
the treat for later,
for no one to find,
is less revelation
than celebration
of our sameness.
to eat sweet
after dinner,
between late-night work,
and moving toward bed,
standing in front
of the fridge,
before yanking the door,
and reaching,
all the way back.