The Same Old Ron Polar Poem Told from Yet Another Point-of-View, That of the Second Person Narrator

You are Ronald
Polar, or Arnold LaRop,
depending on the circle
with which you square.

On this fateful day,
you find yourself with a map,
a grocery list,
and your list has only these items on it:

1. mustard,
2. pickles,
3. olive loaf,
4. combustible jams and jellies

However, as you perchance
your way down the SALTY FOODS
aisle, which is a dumbass name for a
food aisle,
you find many varieties
of hard, salty breads
twisted into unique shapes.

Sadly, many of these breads,
called the pretzels,
have been strewn about in front of you.
You are an important MAN, however,
a MAN who carries important documents,
like a Blockbuster video card,
and a receipt from the first block of meat
you skewered.
You have no time for altering a course
this late in the game.
Some call you a BIG-shot! How far of
them to throw your name!

As you turn to look over your shoulder,
you spy a creepy,
acne-ridden teen
with a pencilled on mustache
playing pocket pool by the magazines.
He has the look of ANGRY and
PORN JUNKY all over his hands
and face.
You smirk at his weaknesses
and hope that he gets to work soon,
damn slacker!

So, you decide to walk very intentionally
and deliberately to smash the fallen pretzel
corpses into a fine
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
all over that gleaming
tiled floor.
And a few you kick out of sight for the mice
and varmints.

As you depart the store, with your bag of olive
loaf and mustard, you smile at the thought of
that grocery store boy
sweeping debris
in angry tones
and thinking of you
and your fancy shoes.