Some musings upon loading the dishwasher, with apologies to Johnny K:

Thou oft-resorted bride of quiet time,
Thou foster-child of whole milk and slow leaks,
Plastic historian, who canst thus betide
A tale more sweetly than our parody speaks:
What merchandising tie-in haunts thy shape
Of anthropomorphic mice, or cats, or both,
In animation of Saturday morning TV?
What Looney Tunes are these? What cartoons loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What TV jingle? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; so, ye Roadrunner, beep on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d
Taunt Coyote with beep-beeps of no tone;
Fair Duck, beneath Fudd’s gun, thou canst not leave
Thy blind, nor ever can that gun discharge;
Bold Pepe, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot smell, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and stench be barred!

Ah, happy, happy Bugs! That cannot cry
“What’s up,” nor ever bid Elmer adieu;
And, happy Porky Pig, revitalized,
For ever stuttering for audiences new;
More Tweety Bird! More tweety, tweety Bird!
For ever warm and still to be pursued,
By Sylvester panting, and for ever young;
All breathing feline passion with the words
“Sufferin’ succotash!” but, thwarted, rued
A burning head wound, and a scorchéd tongue.

O ergo shape! Fair attitude! With lid
Of comic forms in relief overwrought,
With faulty valve that e’er asunder slid,
Thou, Sippy Cup, dost tease us out of thought
With luckless, fatal spill: Cold Apple Juice!
When preschool shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, eternal thirst to sluice,
For us, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Fruity is juice, juice fruity—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”