Sugar

He put sugar
in his coffee, sugar
in his tea. Just picture it,
then add more.  He put sugar
in his milk, sugar in his bourbon.

Sugar was the largest
ingredient in all his recipes.
Sugar in his spaghetti sauce, sugar
in his chili.  Sugar on chicken, fish and steak.
Sugar on hotdogs, hamburgers and French fries.

Have you ever seen
anyone eat a sugar sandwich?
I have.  Sugar.  Between two halves
of a Kristy Kreme.  I’ve seen him twist apart
two halves of an Oreo to add sugar to the cream filling.  

I’ve observed him
adding sugar to soft drinks,
sugar to maple syrup, sugar to honey.
I’ve even seen him sprinkle sugar on candy.
I watched him make himself a bowl of sugar with
ice cream on top, then mumble to himself, “Pretty please
with sugar on top?”  Then I witnessed him pour sugar on top.

 I’ve heard him
sing in the shower:
“Pour some sugar on me,”
as loud as Def Leppard ever did.
I’ve known him to add sugar to shampoo
and body wash as if it made him smell sweeter.

I’ve heard him
dogmatically proclaim
that sugar is a better exfoliant
than alpha- and beta-hydroxy acids
and numerous other chemical exfoliants.

I’ve heard him
spew conspiracy theories
that toothpaste with sugar is a better
exfoliant for gums than toothpaste with baking soda,
that sugar is a better antidepressant than an antidepressant,
and that if endocrinologists would encourage their hypoglycemics
to eat more Mars bars then there wouldn’t be any more hypoglycemia.

He once served me
communion with cookie
and Coke. “Taste and see that the
Lord is good,” he read from his Bible with a
mouthful of cookie before chugging his Coke.  He
referenced his Bible as proof that God is made of sugar.

Truly, I say unto
you, I watched the
man live the sweetest
of lives. Then I watched him
die with a sour look on his face.

May his Sugar Daddy
have mercy on his soul.