Breakfast time, breakfast time,

Time to make my blood sugar climb.

Ham and cheese on my oat bread,

After some butter I’ve smoothly spread.

I take a bite and leave a mouth’s mark,

It looks like legs and I get a spark.

Stand the bread up and make it take steps,

Dancing on an empty bottle of Schweppes.

The ham and cheese fall off like a dress,

The bread screams shrilly with near-death stress.

Howling it runs back into its bag,

Without its dairy cover, its meaty rag.

The clothes of food fell off of my bread,

Its ensuing scream of scare left me dead.

I didn’t know that bread needed clothing,

And I bet what it feels towards me is loathing.

I didn’t know that my bread was alive,

I can’t eat it, it has to survive,

Tell its cool story to everyone around,

Write a breadography, “Not burned, just browned.”


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