with Marvin. It wasn’t too cold.
I was carrying a vital stalk of chartreuse-flowered
and he was going on and on
about some supposed defect in my humor.
So I stopped a passerby, quite beau,
”I am the goddess of cereal and spring.”
“That’s good,” he said in the gentle manner
one uses for children who announce that
they are superman.
There was a power crunch
amidst the deities. We were grabbing for titles
like shoppers at Macy’s.
Spring was an obvious choice
but cereal was a sleeper.
I knew it, had seen it clearly in those
sometime muddy waters.
C.E.O. s eat Corn Flakes in the privacy of their home.
Cheerios, Rice Crispies, Puffed Rice
Shredded Wheat, Wheaties not so often
as you might think,
and some, the dour ones, do Bran Flakes
or sometimes the pathetic types like
poor aging Jack Lalanne do bran
trying to stay young and hard.
It’s a roots thing, their rosebud.
Cereal makes them feel home safe
first thing in the morning.
I ceded oatmeal to the goddess of horses
and she took Cream of Wheat also
just to add to the confusion.
As I said we were grabbing.
Imagine the power I have
controlling those breakfast foods
which remind them of their baseball caps,
reminding them of what they really wanted
when they could really want.
“And,” said Marvin, “sometimes you are imperious.”
“I,” I said, “am the goddess of cereal and spring.”