“Ontology in the Cereal Aisle”

I stood before the Bran and Flakes,
Confronted by the Choice,
And above, a fluorescent buzz,
A small, Cartesian voice:

'I think, ' it whispered, 'therefore I
Am capable of crunch,
Yet if I purchase Sugared Loops,
Who dictates what I lunch? '

The Determinists insist the grain
Was chosen long ago;
The bowl was set, the milk was poured
By forces I don't know.

Free will just as clever a myth
To sell us Rolled-Up Oats;
We are but biological vessels
In tiny, floating boats.

I turned toward the Solipsist,
Who sat upon the shelf;
He said the Raisin Bran was real,
But only to himself.

The Nihilist beside the Cheerio
Sighed at the cardboard box:
'It matters not if it stays crisp,
Or turns to soggy shocks.'

And so I bought the generic brand,
A compromise of sorts-
A fleeting patch of daily warmth
For cold, internal courts.

I poured out milk, and raised my spoon,
And watched the cosmic swill,
And wondered if the prize inside
Was saved, or damned to hell.

.