t'is a seasonal custom of us,
**(you did notice that us
is the centerpiece of c-us-tom?)**
that in December, not November
when turkey precedes...
I take my slip of a gal
for a big bowl of pasta
and white truffles from France.
the eyetalian waiter knows
he made the sale when her eyes,
crinkle wrinkle when I ask,
upon which pasta
does the ristorante serve the
white truffles from France?
fettuccine, naturalmente!
in ritual grandiose,
the mushroom grated before our eyes,
shavings and specks scattered and disbursed,
part one of the us in c-us-tom done.
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
Ronzoni rigatoni and Heinz Ketchup,
not just good enough, but a treat,
and I did not from truffle oil eat
nor speak.
two thirds of the way,
part two, I say, hey!
you know you don't have to eat the whole thing.
with eyes adoring,
she fesses up her tiny tummy was full
about half way through.
but she knows
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
hate to waste the money,
that comes so hard.
part two is the part of the c-us-tom
she forgets about, but the part that
she really loves me for,
so who cares how much truffles cost,
as far her eyes are concerned,
they crinkle wrinkle at the taste,
of my remembering part two.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
t'is a seasonal custom of us,
**(you did notice that us
is the centerpiece of c-us-tom?)**
that in December, not November
when turkey precedes...
I take my slip of a gal
for a big bowl of pasta
and white truffles from France.
the eyetalian waiter knows
he made the sale when her eyes,
crinkle wrinkle when I ask,
upon which pasta
does the ristorante serve the
white truffles from France?
fettuccine, naturalmente!
in ritual grandiose,
the mushroom grated before our eyes,
shavings and specks scattered and disbursed,
part one of the us in c-us-tom done.
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
Ronzoni rigatoni and Heinz Ketchup,
not just good enough, but a treat,
and I did not from truffle oil eat
nor speak.
two thirds of the way,
part two, I say, hey!
you know you don't have to eat the whole thing.
with eyes adoring,
she fesses up her tiny tummy was full
about half way through.
but she knows
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
hate to waste the money,
that comes so hard.
part two is the part of the c-us-tom
she forgets about, but the part that
she really loves me for,
so who cares how much truffles cost,
as far her eyes are concerned,
they crinkle wrinkle at the taste,
of my remembering part two.
See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/hasta-la-pasta/. If, now you got a craving for pasta...
Hasta La Pasta!
She stands in the doorway
As is her wont,
Bidding adieu to the retreating figure
Who spent the night in
Adoration of the Magi,
Her charms, her hair,
Her serpentine figure most fair,
And scribbling on Hello Poetry
Till his eyes said, no mas!
The retreating figure that be me,
Late for work at 7:20.
Over the shoulder I exclaim,
Hasta Mañana!
Which is silly because
My return is faithfully guaranteed,
Every eve for as long as I live!
She laughs and replies,
Hasta la Pasta!
Stop in my tracks,
About face and in woeful Italian,
Do exclaim, in a deeply serious timbre,
Hasta la Pasta?
Basta!
(Italian for "that-does-it")
You can have my love, my soul,
But leave to me the labor of poetry.
Loving you with words is
my domain, the speciality of my terrain,
So no more hasta la pasta if you please,
And by the bye, I would love some
Tonight, say around eight,
At a restaurant where the moon is
The only light illuminating our faces.
7:45 AM
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