chocolate bomb 

the server comes
over to our table & asks
if we want dessert.
none of them sound vegan
so i say "no" but you
(with your love of sweet things)
want her to give you recommendations.
she leans in close & whispers 
"anything but the chocolate bomb."
we ask her what the chocolate bomb
is & she shakes her head a moment.
she says "it's full of chocolate."
i suggest to you the carrot cake
but you think cake with vegetables 
is sacrilegious so you order
the chocolate bomb. 
the server's face went pale
& she nodded slowly.
"why did you have to 
go & do that," i said.
before he could answer 
we heard a whistling overhead
followed by the blare 
of air-raid sirens.
the servers instruct us
to get under the tables &
i take a fork, gripping 
the silverware fearfully.
underneath you can't stop
apologizing
"i just wanted to
see what it was, i just
wanted to see-- you know?"
i shake my head, i can't
look at you.
children across 
the room put their
cloth napkins over their heads
& an old woman curls up
between the legs of her walker.
when the bomb hits there
is an almighty flash  
that smells just 
like melted chocolate or
a tray full of brownies.
it falls in the middle of your 
plate above our heads
& scatters the cutlery 
around the room. knives
stick in the wallpaper &
the basket of bread singes black.
smoke fills the room & 
for a moment i can't see 
anyone or anything-- my mouth
full of chocolate bars
melting down my throat--
i choke on the flavor,
running my hand along 
the ground to find you. 
when things clear we
are in the desert somewhere 
far away & there is just 
a white plate with 
an oval of layered chocolate cake
on top. in the distance 
the sound of bombs continues,
it sounds routine. 
i'm glad that i held onto
the fork. we sit down
in the sand & eat.