Dessert

When I was growing up
We finished every evening meal
With something sweet and sugary –
That was its big appeal.

It might be something simple –
Bartlett pears straight from the can,
With Cool Whip as a topping;
I admit I was a fan.

Sometimes it was fruit cocktail,
With its most misleading name;
For every fruit it featured
Tasted blandly just the same.

Or else we had canned peaches
In a syrup, thick and sweet;
And if my mom had ample time,
Then pudding was our treat.

Of course we ate some Jello;
Its bright colors so attracted;
But learning of its horse hooves,
From our choice it was subtracted.

Now here I am years later
And, I must admit the truth,
That after dinner I must
Satisfy that still-sweet tooth.

Canned fruit will just not cut it,
No, it’s chocolate that I crave:
A bittersweet bonanza
Is a habit I won’t waive.

Some nights it could be ice cream,
Mushed around to make it creamy,
And topped with coconut or crumbled cake
To make it dreamy.

At times some licorice will do
Or fruit pie, a la mode;
My mother didn’t realize
She programmed that sugar lode.

I do not judge her for it;
Criticism I’ll divert.
Refrain from joining me, but
Don’t begrudge me my dessert.