The milk is cold,
a pristine sea.
the cerial is a mass
of soggy debris.
Fruity shapes of
earth-grown goodness
tranmute--decay
entropy in play.

They fear me--
the child-tempting
icons of industry--
sugar pushing jingoist
animated preditors...
No one else will punish them
so I must rise from obscurity--
avitar of holy vengeance--
The Trix rabbit has been skinned...
Captain Crunch is skuttled...
Lucky the leprechuan is gone...
buried beneath his rainbow...
who will be next?

Another box is shot to...Bleep!*
I must return to the store.
such is the fate
of a Cerial Killer.

---------------------------------------------------------
*(a warm subterranian abode
where lawyers and demons scamper).