'CANDY CANE'
Dedicated to an underrated Christmas item.
Hi. My name is Candice Cane.
Most people call me Candy.
I long to be a Christmas pudding,
doused in flaming brandy.
I know I should be satisfied
with how I taste and look:
crunchy-sweet, with crimson twist,
and topped off with a hook.
Despite my shape, I’m pretty straight.
Humdrum. Trite. A bore.
I lie on tables. Hang on trees.
I yearn for so much more.
I’m jealous of the trifles.
Slices. Rum balls. Rocky Road.
I hear the ‘Mmm’ and ‘Yum’ and ‘More!’
Regard is what I’m owed.
While I sit, untouched, unloved,
all faces turn, bewitched,
as blue fire rims the pudding.
How I wish our places switched.
I’ll admit, I’ve had dark thoughts,
like rum-and-raisin ravings,
chocolate cheesecake ponderings,
and reindeer truffle cravings.
I’ve so much more potential
that I fear will stay untapped.
Although ... some Christmas mornings,
I’ve been placed with presents, wrapped.
I’m plucked from bowls, December-long.
In halls, I deck the holly.
Santa’s sleigh has me-shaped skids
to keep him safe and jolly.
I’m more than just a meal-time course.
I come with worth and reason.
I’m celebration! Christmas cheer!
An icon of the season.