Writing Challenge 12/26: Operation Dessert Storm

Heh.

I'm sorry.


OPERATION DESSERT STORM

Silence, and the frozen-hearted bottle
layeth plans the like of which no yellow-bellied
mustard jar could summon in his nightmares;
O, sleep on ye smorgasbord of fools,
heed not the distant rattling and hum
of glass on glass: the rebel juices stir.
Too long the hardened cheese hath lain untouched,
too long hath jam and jelly gone to seed;
but anger grows on every moldered shelf,
and fire is stoked amidst the ice-box chill
that whispers down on frozen wings, plots:
the subterfuge of condiment gone mad.

All through the night's malodorous watch they come
to seek their fortune or their crumbling ruin:
asparagus, with spears of faded gray;
broccoli in huddled camps, envy shining,
bright against their bronze-skinned carrot neighbors;
a horde of shriveled legumes, eyes black,
all waiting with a shiver in their knees
for dark pronouncements, and darker choices made.
A hush descends; attention turns;
upon the highest shelf a figure stands
and bleakly raises up his head to speak.

But lo! Upon the night-enshrouded fridge
there comes a light, a widening morning crack
that sheds the rising sun into their hearts,
and strikes a fear to every rebel soul.
The Speaker turns, his mouth and lid aghast
but makes no move, so paralyzed his mind
and will. The darkness tumbles back
but unto all, their leader's grisly fate
is made most grimly plain: the dwindling scream
of milk into the gullet of the beast.