Wonka Bar Circa 2026

the rain was slanting 

sideways, jetlag makes

the most menial of actions

feel like an acid trip,

an old Texaco sign rusting

on its hinges furiously flaps

backwards and forwards 

forwards and backwards,

epilepsy springs to mind,

sleep deprived and desperate 

to find a creative verse

in everything I see,

I decide to buy a Hershy Bar

convincing myself

it wasn’t mass-produced 

coco mixed with palm oil

wrapped in a fancy veneer, 

as I tore open the wrapper

I realised I’d been 

royally screwed,

no golden ticket 

presented itself,

the disillusioned teenage

girl behind the counter 

asked me where I was from,

I told her I was an Umpa Lumpa

and I’m on the hunt for 

a new Wonka bar circa 2026,

she asked me 

if I was taking the piss,

I said no