36 Scones

Thirty-six lemon iced scones regarded me in silence
Stacked as they were
In their pie slice shapes
In layers of decreasing diameter
Making a presentation platter of perfection
Awaiting delivery the next morning
After another quick inspection

Mustn't touch them
Mustn't taste
Must try to ignore them
Too much effort spent in making them to waste

As the day dawns
Thirty-six lemon iced scones greeted the day
Not knowing that their event was postponed for two weeks
Until after the winter break
Due to snow or the direct fear of snow-like apparitions

So as my coffee brewed I eyed the stack
Thinking that maybe I could freeze them for their now later appointment

"But, that's crazy"
Said a distinct voice
The speaker of which I could not find
Even when I looked around carefully

"That is sort of crazy"
My inner me agreed
Prompting fingers to pluck one lovely wedge shaped beauty from the top
Confection quickly meeting lips
Then tongue
And on to stomach
In a quick order of operations

The coffee was ready
And another lemon iced scone magically appeared in hand
Following it's brother to a shared fate
Along with hot coffee
Never having touched a plate

Thirty-four lemon iced scones regarded me in silent fear
For they now knew that their end was near
And that long before the aforementioned two week break was through
They'd be bidding their sconey existence a fond adieu