POETRY
In the Spirit of Christmas
Tiffany Troy
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Oh my love, you are quite the looker,
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quite the opposite of me—we are the same only
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in that neither of us is Black or White
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enough to pass, you with your golden foil
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I peel off eagerly and crumble
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so thin, me with my thick doubloon-hued
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sponge of skin within which I deposit you, having forsaken
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a dozen of you (so far) in the spirit of Christmas,
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cheap gift that you are to me, but O you do bring back
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memories I had to kill by presenting a pair of you to each of my
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comrades, because to be a Twinkie means self-
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discipline, though I lust for that hazelnut cream hidden in you
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so luxurious, that even as my skin flares up, I lick my tongue and smirk
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having stolen you back from that fool who knows not what you represent
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