Cartesian Eggos

They'd smell so good when printing out
On X,Y, Z, coordinates,
And breakfast chefs would sing and shout
Reordering wheat concentrates
Pumped as batter through tiny tubes
To briefly form new pasty shapes
More quickly baked with tasty lubes
To pacify those hungry apes
Who do not care how food gets made
With pressurizing matrix jets
Or hydroponic lemonade
Which their techno appetite whets
Whenever robots fix their plate,
As future kitchens automate!