By Jack D Serna
Pizza–the only I want to poor my feelings onto
Because when I think of its filling capacity–
Its carb-heavy, fat drenched, and sugary-savory goodness–
I honor the people who continue the artisinal craft.
Pizza–it’s the food for all hungers.
It fills you with energy when you’re high,
Just after a win with a cheery, rowdy gang of five.
It’s the traditional topping on the pie.
Pizza–All and everything, when the time calls.
When the emptiness cannot be filled,
Let it be filled with years of associations.
All in good company, Pizza, my best friend.
So I met a new person today–quiet and resourceful,
She was counting her inventory,
Solving a problem set or learning a new trick.
I barged in while she put aside her life for mine.
She said, “What may you have, sir?”
“A medium with pepperoni,” I said, “and linguica, please”.
That was all that’s said as she carried on her fees.
“That’ll be $18.05,” and a shot of guilt charged me.
Pizza, though poor my feelings how expensive the taste!
When, just then, she collected the money
The pizza was all too simply done and I was on my way.
I was the one left, saying, ” Well, enjoy your weekend!”
But as I drove and the pizza aromatized,
Neither she nor I were free from capitalized.
A self-disciplined pizza artist, stripped of her dough,
Like the boy who made chocolate with a molinillo.