AFTER RECEIVING YOUR GIFT OF FUDGE

With carbs to load I hit the road -
Valve pyloric craved caloric.
My truck, it sweltered. Your fudge? It meltered.  
In the heat of my truck it devolved into muck.
To thermal convection succumbed your confection.
The temp I did misjudge, like, your gift became sludgelike.
Cool air it did lack; now it was Rorschach (or hot Tarmac).
Surreal, it did uncongeal.  Not even gooplike. Souplike!
Secreted in my fridge, it
Soon became rigid.
Solidified nicely, hardened precisely
In air arctic, into a brick.
Froze in cool repose.
Changed its state before being ate:
At 72 became fit to chew.
In matters of fudge I am a good judge.
My sweet tooth has found your truth.
I love all eats which cause diabetes.
But are they worth an increase of girth?
I’ll try to make my blubber fade
Before I return your Rubbermaid.
You of birdlike diet - did you even try it?

-Will Walsh, 2000