his love of mac n' cheese
often outweighs the capacity
of his seven year old stomach
but valiantly he labours
so his love  is not lost
his belly becomes drumlike
and his visage narcoleptic
as he falls into slumber
one hand clutching the fork
the other curled protectively
around the bowl, with still
at least a third of his *****
gleaming in a viscous mountain
of golden sunshine goodness...
cooling rapidly to a solid mass
but still when we try to remove
his now completely sombulant body
he clutches his golden *****
to his chest. like a pirate
in  the story's he has been told
unfotunately the result of
this myclonic clutch
is a gluggy macaroni mess
down his front and in his crutch

so now, we have no mac'n cheese
a grumpy pirate too sleepy/ cranky to please,
a running bath and washer too
and the devon rex cat,  no longer the blue
but the tuxedo black scoffing down cheesey glue,
from the floor ...
whilst the irritable pirate is crying (read bellowing)
for more

god give me strentgh.... to  just endure