Don’t Kill Over Stolen Milk

This is an old poem from long before I got serious about it.  It aimed more humor than any type of form.  A true story from college too.  Though the last line doesn’t really hold true.

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Stuck in class

Breakfast now long dead

I feel my stomach twist

Forcing me to stumble

As I traverse the snowy quads

I know I have to make it

Back to my simple room

Where salvation waits

Inside a holy carton

The last ration of my week

Until I make it to the store

I can almost taste it

The chocolate frothy drink

Giving me the strength

To live until the lunch bell

Imagine my despair

When the holy carton is no more

I find it drained

And crushed inside the trash

With the criminal still near

Licking his lips

As he reads a gamer mag

The faint smell of chocolate

Hovering on his breath

That I smell across the room

My rage tries to rise

To overcome my stomach

That saps me with every gurgle

A mild debate ensues

And the war begins

Continuing to this very day

About Charles Yallowitz

Charles E. Yallowitz was born, raised, and educated in New York. Then he spent a few years in Florida, realized his fear of alligators, and moved back to the Empire State. When he isn't working hard on his epic fantasy stories, Charles can be found cooking or going on whatever adventure his son has planned for the day. 'Legends of Windemere' is his first series, but it certainly won't be his last.
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21 Responses to Don’t Kill Over Stolen Milk

  1. L. Marie says:

    Ha ha! I totally had a roommate like this freshman year! Rage is right! We went our separate ways winter quarter.

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  2. L. Marie says:

    My roommate and I were supposed to share the expense of buying food. But I was the one buying the food while she and her sister ate it.

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  3. This is had me laughing Charles, I can almost see you standing there seething over the loss of your last gulp of chocolate milk. Very funny. 🙂

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  4. noelleg44 says:

    I’m glad this is a fond memory. Roommates can morph into monsters so easily. But chocolate milk? There I’d have to draw the line.

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  5. I lived this poem in my undergraduate days.

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  6. It’s good when you can look back and laugh, even if the story still niggles. Thanks for sharing the memory with us in such a fun way 😀

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