In a moment of defeat and despair,
we begged, “What will you eat?!”
"Noodles!" She declared.
"Noodles," we agreed, "noodles are fine."

And so noodles upon noodles upon
noodles we’ve tried: noodles boiled,
steamed and fried; strings, tubes and
swirls; noodles shaped like bunnies,
unicorns and dinosaurs; in sauces
and soups, in cheesious goops;

noodles with veggies (until veggies
were banned); noodles with
mushrooms (only from a can);
noodles made of wheat, lentils, rice or
corn - noodles made of everything
noodles could suborn.

Noodles for lunch and for dinner -
noodles again and again and again
- and what then? How many times
can one noodle? How many noodles
until brains begin to spill onto plates
in a braineous-noodle-ous state?

Noodles for breakfast - can’t do it.
Noodles for lunch - can’t get thru it.
Noodles are banned! Noodles are
not welcome near here - never again!
At least not today anyway.

Ok, fine...


NCL August 2019

She told me that she never had real spaghetti before.
Of course she's had spaghetti before but not in the sense that made it worthwhile.
When I asked why she replied that it didn't feel real.
That in a sense it was pasta.
She always broke the noodles when she made it.
She developed a fear that everything would boil over and catch fire.
That part of the noodles would be too crunchy.
All of it would never fit in the ***.
Her mother always broke the noodles so it just became habit.
In the same breath.
She told me at least once,
That she'd like to twirl the noodles around the fork.
The complete taste and feel of what makes it spaghetti.
The cheese blending into the sauce.
The big ball of noodles just wrapping around the fork waiting to be bit.
When I asked about the meatballs she laughed,
She was vegetarian