I sit on the sofa,
My feet up,
Greedily slurping up
A pint of Ben and Jerrys,
Happy in the moment
And carefree in a way
That I seldom am,
When my mother,
Now dead for three years,
Creeps into my mind,
Reminding me
Of my promise
To her on her deathbed
To work on my weight
(Now 200 pounds in excess);
I smart back
(As I often did)
That I am,
Then slurp another spoonful
In stubborn rebellion;
And I feel her sadness
Which immediately robs me 
Of the pleasure
I had seconds ago
Been enjoying;
So I say good-bye 
To the remainder of the pint
Before pitching it in the garbage;
And after a while
I quietly thank her 
For bringing me to my senses.
After all,
Mom was always right.