I was shoveling out the back seat of the car after a two hour trip to visit my father, and thought to myself, "Why do we have to have snacks on every blankety-blank trip in the car?"  That question haunted me for days, until I composed the following poem.

The Tyranny of Snacks 

Wherever you are, whatever you do, 
whenever you go, I'll have a snack for you.
When you were a babe, I gave you puffed rice, 
A cup filled with juice, and raisins, so nice.
You didn't argue with my choice of snacks.
You were an infant, so I could relax.

Now we can't take a step without cereal bars, 
or candy or chips or fruit shaped like cars.
I give you a juice box though you rather have soda.
You can drink soda when you get a bit older.
Stop taking my soda, gosh darn it you kids
I have so few pleasures, stop drinking my soda, 
That's the last cold one.  You selfish monsters.

As you grow bigger, so do the snacks.
I work two jobs just to pay for your racks
of meat and the milk and the caseload of chips.
Your dad would help out, but he broke both his hips
trying to get your lazy self up off the couch. 
Do you ever think of anyone else?

I see our future together, I see it so clear.
You look in my eyes so loving, so dear.
You say "Mom, I love you and it's time for me to
repay my debt for all those sweet things you do.
Can I get you a snack?"  And my eyes start to tear.
"I need a fifty, cause I need some more beer,
and you ran out of jerky and you don't have the kind
Of mustard I like, so make it a hundred.
I've got to meet my girlfriend so I won't be back
until maybe tomorrow or the next day."

And I sigh to myself and hear myself say, 
He can't help it. I raised him that way.
Then I snap from my dream and realize I can
Make my son became a more capable man.
Here's a whisk and some eggs.  Make us all a good
Omelet.   Make your own PB and J.
It's not hard, if you want it.
Mama's going on strike.  No more snacks for you lot.
Would it kill you to eat some fresh fruit? 
I bet not.