Having breakfast, toaster full of toast,
That’s my thing, if I’m to boast.
Crispifying toast goes faster with cereal,
For a good day, it’s good raw material.
I spoon the slush into my morning maw,
Hear the toast pop up as I saw with my jaw.
Midflight I hear “Caught you red handed!”
Shouted the toast before it landed.
I hide the bowl under my sleeve,
The spoon I hide, or so I perceive.
“I wasn’t eating, at least not really.
It’s only for the taste, it’s nice and mealy.
You’re the real deal that fills my tummy,
And besides, you’re way more yummy.”
The tabled toast listened quite intently,
It responded not too gently:
“Too late now, your goose got cooked,
I’m off now, plane tickets booked.
Kiribreadi is calling and the call is strong.
Good bye cheater, farewell and so long!”
It crumbled towards the door at the front,
It just left due to my bad affront.
“At least I have you my cereal dear,
You’re always here, I have no fear.”
It bubbled a response, milky and sweet,
Its language liquid, its tongue of wheat.
“I don’t think so, I heard your talk,
I’m only for taste? I’ll go for a walk.
Find the nearest bridge or cliff,
Cerealicide, my resolution stiff.
Bubbly bye bye, you aren’t nice,
I hope your socks are eaten by mice.”
It left too and the very next morn,
I read of a bowl shattered and torn.
Milk everywhere, a horrible sight,
Disastrous scene, spatters of white.