Of Pizza (and Poetry)

Eat the fucking pizza, Ray.
Tell me if you like the taste,
And spare me all your learned
Cant, the “notes of sunlit
Tuscan villas, lemon-apple
Scented echoes” in the
Pepperoni grease. I needn't
Know the current theories
Of the pizza's social place.
I beg you, be the boy you
Were before you swathed
Yourself in snot, the one
Who charged the table
Nightly, stomach aching.
Simply eat, and tell me
How it tastes.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 26 times
Written on 2013-10-04 at 01:13

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