All day long it’s in my head:
I love I want I need some bread.
Rustic loaves or whole grain slices
They’re every bit as good as mices,
Not to mention an easier catch,
And a lot less squiggly going down the hatch.
When my love is trapped in cellophane
I confess to going a tad insane—
Turning into a savage beast,
I bite right through to free my feast.
I chew a selection, then shake my head,
Letting the gluten-rich wadlets spread
From where I crouch, amidst artisanal crumbs,
Far and wide, to Kingdom Come.
When she appears and takes in the display
Her nice voice goes away on vacay
A string of nonsense, patently absurd.
By then, of course, I’m long gone,
Although I can’t say I see I’ve done anything wrong.
All references to mice are hypothetical. No rodents have been harmed or ingested by Bob A Cat, who prefers high-gluten prey.
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