Look for me between the Cheerios you want
and the generic sugar you will afford.
Find me under a package of pork chops
not too wet to read.
Spare me your hands if poems demand
more than you can give.
But note bananas their haiku
yellow stolen suns.
Sparkling waste reveals its water
and a twelve-packed line.
Chicken eggs are cross with roads
for bringing home their roost
while perhaps these cynic toads
will score your mind a boost.
When on holy Styrofoam
another scripture looms
god will burn the trashy earth
until our eyes can't wail.
I'm your Lucifer
watchful, diligent,
ready to burn your coals
as your tank rolls down the aisle.
Fall upon my icy shoals
where you'll find your quaint reflection
in the freezer aisle
monkey chunks
cherry panaceas
and a notecard poem trial.
Roman Ryan 