A Poem by Amit Parmessur

Kit Kating

I tear the red wrapper. What

a confection. Compared to

hypocrisy, in endless supply.

I eye the two middle bars.

Truth is as usual in the middle.

I snap the two bars free

recalling Forrest Fenn’s poem.

Terrific man the old guy

calling us to find

a million dollars of antiques,

compared to friends who call

when their Titanic hits an iceberg.

I cut the Kat

and sweep the sweet mud

off the wafer with a thrilled tongue.

I am not a man to keep

the mouse out of the house.

Not a painter keen

to wake up on his page missing.

Kit Kating brings me to Macau.

Freedom.

Kit Kating brings me to Groppi.

Transcendental bliss. I

Kit Kat while my black Kat

(thats how I call her) purrs

pleasure into my veins.

I become slightly political.

Walking about, I learn that 600

million Indians have no electricity.

Well, I need to Kit Kat on the moon

and learn tagalog some time soon.

Amit Parmessur lives with his black cat and two cute dogs nowadays. Since 2010, his poems have appeared in over a hundred literary magazines, like Ann Arbor Review, Salt, Hobo Camp Review and Red Fez. His book on blog Lord Shiva and other poems has also been published by The Camel Saloon. Born in 1983, he was nominated for the 2011 Pushcart Award and lives in Quatre-Bornes, Mauritius.