F.4 Poem - Girls
The Sixth Sense

Mum has baked a cake.
I can smell it from my bedroom.
I shall follow my nose to the kitchen.
Aah, a sight for sore eyes.
Not that mine are sore;
they are keen, all too keen.
So, it’s butter icing is it.
My taste buds are tingling.
I am salivating like Pavlov’s dog.
My fingers creep towards the icing.
Nothing can beat the velvety texture
of sweet, sweet icing,
the feeling as the finger plunges in and…
Aaargh! Mum. You needn’t shout like that.
It was just a quick lick.
I think my eardrums have burst.
By the way, we did the five senses today at school
and I have just used all mine.
It was an educational exercise
so I would have thought
that you would have been pleased.
I have returned to my room to sulk.
There is a sixth sense too, you know.
They don’t mention it at school of course
but it is telling me at this very minute
that I shall not be getting any cake.