Ketchup used to fill my cup— it was my favorite
Other than on sweet treats like a stacked banana split
I thickly besmeared mater matter on everything
On mashed taters— on all eggs— on fowl, both legs and wing

Honestly, I can't wholly deduce why it happened
As for how— I tipped the bottle, gave it a slap, and
If you know ketchup at all, in any shape or form
You know it matters not if it's cold or if it's warm

You know I had to give that bottle a forceful clap
Rapidly followed up by the classic tap, tap— tap
Then, when that fancied syrup, at long last, met my meal
What transpired next, felt in all respects, quite unreal

I took a standard bite— it was abnormally sweet
I quickly bit again, for science, but couldn't eat
In defiance, I crammed another big mouth full in
It was no use— both bottle and grub were for the bin

I made myself a long safe meal for another try
Opened a new ketchup bottle, 'cause you now...