Chocolate Pudding

I remember this one thing.
She had prepared a treat,
Instant pudding and Cool Whip
Placed in dinnerware.

Gathered on a platter,
Parental, familial, domestic inspiration
From a Good Housekeeping spread.
“Quick treats for the loved ones in your life.”

The presentation alone,
Made the simple victuals,
Seem luxurious and fine
To a child.

But, that’s not the thing I remember.

It was the strange curiosity
I felt.
The lack of excuse, need,
Or celebratory affair.

The random event, so poignantly void of obligation,
And presented to us
With a white hot glow of lunacy and glee,
Never seen before (and never seen again).

My imagination vacillates on the etiology
Of her sudden, abrupt, and unusual behavior;

Maniacal rush of joy?
Too much Mother's Little Helper?
Spite for my father?
The zenith of effort to effuse love?

This was one of the greatest outward expressions of love
My mother had;
Culminating in 5 minutes of mixing milk and powder
And placed in dainty dishes.

I ate the pudding
With the guarded joy,
That a turkey eats his meals,
In November.

Never knowing why.