A Not So Original Sin

The next best thing
to eating an apple in the garden
is sharing an ice-cream drumstick
with your first grandchild.

You crunch the nuts and chocolate;
she licks the white part,
wearing it home on her cheeks,
dripping it like thick white raindrops
onto her new red sweater.

You finish the cone and smile,
smug that key evidence
has been destroyed,
that the prosecution's best witness
cannot yet talk.

You will get away
with the crime unscathed,
secretly label yourself
a repeat offender,
resign yourself to a lifetime
of such sweet crime.