―with line from Truman Capote

O, beautiful round of sweetness,
O, satisfying art fashioned with
red and green candied cherries and
golden pineapple, glazed, translucent. 
You have sustained us through 
the centuries with your plump,
juicy raisins and your meaty, freshly-
hulled pecans laced with butter and 
infused with nutmeg and cinnamon
and other spices. Yet some have branded
you a culinary punching bag providing
holiday humor to the masses. Late night
shows have derided you and injured
your reputation, quipping you’re the gift
that goes on giving, much like the white
elephant nobody treasures. But O, sacred,
delectable indulgence, those naysayers 
have not been privy to the joyous face
of one looking upon you with wonder, 
exclaiming, Now, that’s a precious
memory, proceeding then to recount
the story of a Christmas-aproned mama
unveiling a cheesebox-sized you, a mound 
of mouth-watering flavor, a you, aged 
with a fruit-of-the-vine red liquid or better 
yet, with a rare, clear elixir, bootleg
quality. 

O, taste of heaven, we bow to 
your goodness once more and ask
your forgiveness for the folly and fatuity
of fools, for even now some of us mortals
are looking to yet another season of crisp
and cool weather when we will exclaim with
the generations of yesterday, Oh my,
it’s fruitcake weather.