I expect nothing less

in a world where Donald Trump

can somehow become number 1,

than to see my festive only Toblerone

become a stranger to me,

the weird spacing now employed

now means I cannot look upon it

as if staring down the Valley of the Kings,

the heat haze and the curse,

an adventure in Christmas chocolate;

instead it is now the echo

of a drizzly Stockport day, menace

in the Lancashire mists and rain,

where is the adventure, the romance

of almost taking out the roof