Thursday, April 19, 2007


Nocturnal hunger begs the belt to cinch,
but lust will always conquer pride’s thin stand.
Impatient taste buds waive an extra inch
so, guilt to bed, my sly foray is planned.
A quick descent - avoiding creaks, I slink
as juices start to coat my anxious throat.
I’m almost there then – CRUNCH – oh no! I think
this escapade has waylaid one remote.
My toes alight on ice and curl a bit,
so near the treasure chest with humming cord.
I swing the door with glee, prepare to fit
these twitching lips around a filling hoard.

I stand aghast in barren, chilling glow—
a swifter cutthroat pillaged my to-go!


Russell Ragsdale said...

Cool one Bob! I hate it when someone snags my stash of sweet and sour. I'm still chuckling.

ozymandiaz said...

HA HA! That was great. I hate it when I get the midnight munchies and the cubbard is bare, so to speak.