The Batter Holds

The muzzle velocity is like cake.

It’s a dish that is eaten at a speed

That approaches a dessert that must bake.

To digest the round would satisfy needs.

As it soars through the air, the batter holds.

Every bit of the ammunition calls.

Until the cake turns green and starts to mold.

Once the target is reached, the pastry falls.

Whoever tickles the trigger knows how

To fire a moist, layer confection

As the round zooms with sugar, now

There’s a saccharine sense of connection.

The journey of a M16 round is sweet.

The sugary taste of carbon’s a treat.