Why the hell wouldn’t I eat mac and cheese?
A creamy blob of sunshine, the collaboration of
cheddar, parmesan, mozzarella, provolone
inciting a major meltdown in my mouth.
Steamed pasta wafting across my face,
Begging to be obliterated in an instant.
Because I’m a ‘fuck-off’, that’s why.
Upon consuming this delectable dinner
the notion of cleaning up after myself will
flee my mind faster than a peregrine falcon.
And King David will approach.
“My God, the sight of these dishes!
I fear you will attract fruit flies.”
With a critical glare I must glance away,
Shackles of shame constricting my conscience.
His head shaking at his request’s rejection,
negative energy radiates as I see anger accumulate.
He’s attacking me, punishing me with clenched fists,
Grasping my shirt he places me into a collar choke.
I refuse this to be my demise and resist with might.
With a final jolt, a concluding burst of power
I break out of it and submit him an arm bar.
Gasping for air he collapses on the couch.
“I’m gonna go pass out” and he’ll be gone
as quickly as he had first appeared.
The dishes will remain uncleansed with spite,
and fruit flies will rule the Brad House.