choices, choices

“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 the milk, I raised the spoon,

And watched the cosmic swell,

And wondered if the prize inside

Was saved, or damned to hell.

.