I awoke in a droll,
huddled mass
Woe to me, for the
previous night
Saw not sweet dreams,
but fiendish fright.
I gazed at my clock –
nine and a score;
Time now wasted, and
mine no more!
Yet drained as I was,
what could I do
But tumble and doze
another two?
I mustered my strength,
and all my will –
“By my pride, I shan’t
stay still!
This morn, though
bleak, shall never best
My muscles coiled; I
clenched my teeth
And thus threw off my
cotton sheath!
Not my clothes, I
hasten to add;
Nay, all but hidden
mattress pad!
My dog, so small, did
sound a cry
As through the air he
soon did fly
But by his pride, he
sveltely landed
(And with sharp barks
he reprimanded!).
“No time, dear
hound! Now fetch my trousers!
I aim to dine – though
triple pounders
Are unbefitting of my
wiry frame;
Mounds of meat are mine
brother’s game!”
I stroked my chin and
gave a thought
As to what dear mother
had soundly bought
And stored in pantry
stone’s throw away
To be inhaled
throughout the day.
“Dear hound,” I
reasoned, ceasing deduction.
“The time is nigh for
great production!
A hearty meal, swiftly
prepared
And thusly had in my
office chair.”
The loyal pooch loosed
confused whine
His head a-cocked,
brown eyes so fine
That they doth gazed
into my soul
To ascertain my lofty
goal.
I opened wide my magic
mirror
A gateway making info
nearer
Such had been my day’s
routine
Betwixt my gaming
magazines.
I waved my finger. “Naïve Henri!”
(My dear hound’s
moniker, you see.)
“What I want is no
great feast
But something made with
effort least!
“My machine doth awake,
like me
And you know, too well,
that I must see
A wide array of
mystical news
Fused with age-old
movie reviews!”
With sacred tunes gracing
my ear
I left my sanctum
without fear
With Henri trotting
close behind
With mounting my leg
fresh on his mind.
My heart now hardened,
I ventured in
The bathroom – where
battles begin
To duel to death bad
hygiene
Lest we all fall to
gangrene.
Though I admit, I know
not how
Such maladies arrive –
tut, tut! For now
Showdown of fate, clash
of pride!
My noble brush shall
turn the tide!
“Foul beasts!” I
howled, my mouth a-foamy.
“You wretched beings
are far below me!
Invade my mouth and
pillage my teeth?
Blasphemy! Return to the heath!”
Our war raged on, with
both sides tiring.
Swallowed by fury, all
soldiers kept firing
But fear not; I claimed
the win
As brilliant guitar
solo kicked in.
“Cursed knaves! Spread thine ears wide!
The gods of metal –
they decide
Today, victory goes to
Ye who wields the
toothpaste tube!”
With triumph had, I
sealed their fate
And said goodbye to
food once ate;
I banished the fiends
to parts unknown
To wither in pipes,
lost and alone.
I clapped my hands in
celebration
With fanfare blasting
in admiration
(For my mind’s eye, as
my tome of songs
Had been running for
much too long).
With trotting hound at
my side –
And strutting in a
cocky stride –
I ventured at last to
Hestia’s den:
The land that birthed
feasts for men.
I scanned the sanctum,
and what should I find
What fortune – no
resources denied!
Milk fresh from humble
cow’s teat
(A grizzly image that
shan’t be beat!).
From jungles afar, a
simian’s delight:
A duet of bananas,
golden and bright!
My eye did rove to
pantry doors
Knowing full well what
was in store.
I flung the wooden
doors so wide
That alert Henri did
yelp and hide
While I reached in and
seized the chest
That would deliver
breakfast best!
“Huzzah! Hurrah!
Take note! Behold!
Instant oatmeal – and
cinnamon roll!
My favorite flavor;
there is no better!
Sweet, and faultless to
the letter!”
Right then and there, I
loosed a laugh
That shook the walls
and every shaft
Of my bloodline’s great
citadel;
To think I’d conjured
such a yell!
But soft! My plan had a flaw
(Hast thou heard of
Murphy’s Law?):
A fatal step in
execution
Leads to tasteless
retribution.
“Be still, my heart!” I
whispered soft
To keep my quaking hand
aloft;
To make a meal of grand
design
Would take skill well
beyond mine.
With slinking dog
cheering me on
(And shrieking for my
scraps anon),
I seized two packets of
dusty oats
And amused smile I did
emote.
The scent of cinnamon
wafted on high
As did a plume into the
sky.
A thousand shards,
falling like sand
From russet paper in my
hand.
“What ho?” I
gasped. “Some bits are stuck;
Mayhap I shall now try
my luck
At rending the pouches
that dare to steal
A single oat from my
perfect meal.”
Whilst surging with
impassioned flame
I tore the bags that
were to blame
But in my haste, I quickly
spilled
Some candidates to earn
my fill.
“Confound it! Gravity, you cruel wench!
Can no calamity your
hunger quench?
Ye, who crush man’s
birds under your heel –
What business have ye
with my oatmeal?!”
Left without answer, I
stifled a shrug
(Yet to be frank, I
needed a hug);
I scraped stray oats
into the trash
Where my hounds’
tongues could never lash.
The next phase of
battle – the direst of all;
One slight mistake
would bring my fall.
To add the milk, with a
steady hand
For too much would defile
flavor’s land.
But be wary! Too little is no better pick;
A barren wasteland,
hard and thick!
No spoon or sword could
pierce its hide –
An epic fail, my kin
would chide!
Wisdom and experience,
I had;
Rarely had my meals
gone bad.
A tad bit thick was my
preference –
A soupy mess? Pure decadence.
I shook my
breakfast-time concoction
Hoping not to brew a
toxin.
“Aha! It’s done!
The task, complete!
On this day I shan’t
taste defeat!”
With mixture set, my
hunger I staved
As I heated my meal in
the microwave.
I bided my time while
searing the stew
Preparing the rest for
a minute or two.
The timer chimed with a
voltaic squeal
With great haste I
reached in, and soon did feel
The heat of the mix,
pervading the bowl
And signaling the realized
fruits of my goal.
“What now?” I asked,
stroking my chin.
“Perhaps I’ll add a
pinch of cinnamon?
Nay, not yet, not till
my first taste
For to add more now
would be such a waste!”
I summoned a spoon from
a drawer quite near;
I swallowed hard to suppress
dark fear.
My nerves lashed out,
and thrashed in my skull
But I stifled my panic
– and took a bite whole.
The flavor was good –
brown sugary bliss
But whilst bite
digested, something was amiss.
It seemed a bit hard to
chew on this clump
And as the truth
dawned, my heart loosed a thump.
“Good God!” I cried
out, tears welling fast.
“Oh, how I wish to
return to the past!
To correct mistakes, to
understand why
My pristine oatmeal turned
out so dry!
“The oats, they cling like
knitted pajamas
So maliciously woven
they’re unfit for llamas!
King Arthur himself
could not force his way through;
Excalibur’s useless;
he’d need at least two!
“Egad! What’s this?
The mix is not thorough?
Blast you, foul
milk! I thought you could burrow
Through each nook and
cranny, to soften the mix
And now I’ve fallen for
your mean-spirited tricks!
“What sorcery is
this? Still-sand-covered grains?
Why bother with milk if
the result is so plain?
I trusted thy skills,
and believed we could win!
Enough, damned milk! You’re no longer my kin!”
Wrought with despair, I
slammed down my hands
On the table, and
mourned the collapse of my plans.
Distraught, I turned my
gaze to the door,
Where little Henri
wailed from the depths of his core.
Seeing my dear hound
cry to the gods
Ignited my fire. I gave a quick nod –
“Fret not, dear friend;
I haven’t lost yet
No one has best me –
and none shall, I bet!”
I brandished my trident
(figuratively)
And throttled the milk
for its cruel treachery.
“See here, foul
schemer! Spoiler of meals!
I won’t waste thy time
with foppish appeals!
“I’ll have what I want,
by the pride of my clan;
An unstoppable force of
immovable span!
My fork, Jeremiah, hath
laid waste to ten score
And I see no harm in
impaling one more!”
As if to transform my
boast into law
My noble hound loosed a
roar from his maw
The milk quivered
swiftly, like the coward it was,
And revived my oatmeal,
its nerves all abuzz.
With an indignant eye,
I gazed at the traitor
(Should he con me again,
he’d be in Hell later).
I took my next bite,
eager to be vicious
But there was no need;
the meal was delicious!
My face bright with
glee, bananas I sliced
With great butter
knife, the white fruit was diced!
They fell into place,
turning food into art
And with a slow nod, I
began to depart.
I took my seat in my
personal throne
While hungry Henri let
loose a quick moan.
Blame him, I could not,
for my repealed defeat
As the meal in my hand
was certainly sweet.
The dissonant hotness
of bananas and oats
Created a symphony as
they ran down my throat.
My taste buds did sing
in immaculate chorus
By blessing of sugar
and milk most amorous.
Such texture! Such smoothness! Like two waltzing lovers
They tickle the insides
(as one soon discovers);
Fresh-sliced bananas so
firm and so true
And most lovely of
all? It’s healthy for you.
“Beautiful,” I
whispered, wiping tears from my eye
Yet could not help but
have a good cry –
To have such a meal, a
notch on my belt
So very triumphant my
soul did soon melt.
“Hear me, gods!” I
yelled to the sky.
“Take fretful heed of
this young warrior’s cry!
On this day I have
mastered the oatmeal craft!
And soon, even you, I
shall surpass!
“By the thunder in
skies, and the rumbling earth!
This one bowl of grain
hath proved my worth!
Come tomorrow,
beware! Ascension draws near!
By my great Jeremiah,
you shall know fear!”
If that were to happen,
it would be so sweet
But alas, that fate I
have yet to meet
But who is to say what
will happen next time
When once again, on
oatmeal I dine?
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