There's a cereal
killer on the loose.
His neck is humping like a goose.
Caught in perpetual flight.
Seeking cereal through the night.
Like a champion on a Wheaties box.
He doesn't want bagels. He doesn’t want lox.
He wants something that will give him new Life.
To carve a new Total on his knife.
He doesn't want green eggs and ham.
He wants Fruit Loops more than jam.
The Breakfast of Champions is visual arts.
His insidious craving is like Pop Tarts.
Puffed, popped, shredded, and diced,
Covered with strawberries, nicely sliced.
Smothered in peaches and floating on cream,
The cereal killer faces his dream.
Dispatching the cupboard with verve and ease.
The cereal killer feeds his disease.
“I feel like a tiger!” He screams as he wakes.
“Has anyone seen my Frosty Flakes!”
Copyright 2002 © Ronald W. Hull
Read War's End, the Novel