chocolate fountain 

i really thought by now i would have
encountered more chocolate fountains.
in fourth grade, they consumed me.
tower of sweet tumble. my fingers,
like rockets. everything was a mouthful.
the sun, more blue. the sky, more purple.
i don't know if i'm imagining it but
when i was in elementary school i think 
the world had a grainy texture. the smell
of a photograph in the cafeteria. my hair,
cut short. a boy's haircut. i wore off-brand crocs. 
my retainer was bright blue. 
they wheeled the fountain out for bingo nights.
in the weeks leading up to the occasion
i would dream of what i could submerge. 
swimming in chocolate. strawberries & 
cookies & marshmallows. i told myself,
when i am older i am going to have 
a fountain in my house. i pictured it 
on the kitchen counter like a microwave.
i don't know where the chocolate fountains went. 
i never saw one in middle school. all we had then
was the soda machine on the back steps
that accepted only quarters. a half-flat sprite
in september. in some ways, it was all
downhill from the fountains. sometimes 
i'll think i see one in the early morning.
a little shrine on the kitchen counter.
what i wanted most as a kid was to dip my fingers
into all that falling. of course, i never did. 
when i catch a mirage that is the first thing i do.
reach out. feel the chocolate warm & soft. two fingers out. 
the neon lights of the school. my shadow,
unaccounted for in the shuffle. dawn now,
cream smooth, bleeding through kitchen window.