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"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 out milk, and raised my spoon, 

And watched the cosmic swill, 

And wondered if the prize inside

Was saved, or damned to hell.

 .