zigzag through cafeteria screams,
sweep past that 60-cents-per-ounce sign,
gun down troops waiting to behead
those daring to pop one olive in
before they weigh forever out.
Havoc-wreakers of three-bean salad,
we'll pillage cowering bowls of lettuce,
plunder carrot trays, take
the most slender bread sticks hostage.
It is then we'll ride off,
marauders splashing wild through pools
of French and Italian dressing, dragging
slain bean sprouts behind us. Yes,
we'll finally have our way with broccoli.