Burnt Biscuits

Carrying the car seat in,

In the dark, her little heart

beating with a start, I caught

the whiff and forgot with fatigue

whence it had come,

from when you'd left the oven on,

before we left and bereft

would be too strong a word,

you realised it was too late,

pulling out the burnt biscuits

and placing them on a plate,

not fit for the rushed birthday gift

so left when we'd turned the lights out

adrift, and when I turned the light on,

checking she was asleep,

their dark scented burntness

seemed so dark and deep

little rings of turbulence

that wakes her from her sleep.

Things we hope for

but when arrive don't want to keep.