"spagetti" poems
Giovanni the Pizza Guy (Pronounce "a" as "uh")
Giovanni,you make a de savory tomato
and de thicka white creamy alfredo
you are a de pizza guy, amor'e
Si', I make a de homemade paste
she's a richer for you taste
and that's a part of my story.
I make a de pizza pie
I make a it to please
you wanna de pepperoni
or you wanna de plain cheese ?
I am a you waiter I take a you order
when you food-she a comes
she make a you mouth water
I make a de perfect pizza
in me you should a trust
you wanna de thicka or de thinna crispy crust?
I can make a spagetti or make a zucchini
butta for you , I make a linguine
I can make a de sauce red
I can make a it white
after you taste-you wanna more bite
I make a de spagetti -she's a made a with love
I cook a real slow you order ahead ;
or you take a to go.
I putta de stuff on de top
I give a you wine or a some pop
Uno momento, will you please
I must a cut a de cheese
I am a you pizza guy to make a you pizza pie
Why must a you stay a at home
when a you can a dine a in a Rome ?
I save a you a table
I tell a you a fable
I fill a you pants
I make a you dance
I make a de sauce thick
I make a de sauce thin
I make a you laugh
I make a you grin !
Si', Please a come a back ; see a Giovanni again!
CHOW FOR NOW, BELLISIMA !
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
Cracked vinyl bus seats
Windows that have heard the stories of every passanger smeared with truth
The spit of the elderly woman who fell asleep while reminiscing about the son whom she's visiting that she hasn't seen in 35 years
The stubbled cheeks of the older gentleman who is counting the pennies in his pocket on his way to the store to get food for his daughter
The knitted scarf of the middle-aged woman who is slowly pulling her coat closer to her in an attempt to warm herself because it was the only article of clothing she could afford that year
The ponytail of the teenaged girl who is tracing the scars on her wrist from the last time she tried to end her life
They congregate for a common purpose, but
The doors to their hearts open like the hinged door, letting anyone haphazardly stumble in for a moment,
And
Their souls are brighter than the lights of the megabus as they are honest with themselves for even just a minute
And their walls are temporarily demolished because who would ever have to lie about who they are on a greyhound bus?
Smooth polished church pews
Floors that have been tread upon by every saint stained with lies
The flats of the elderly woman who is nodding off while pretending to pray for the son whom she hasn't spoken to in 35 years
The loafers of the older gentleman who is calculating the amount of money he can sneak from the spagetti dinner fund without getting caught
The high heels of the middle-aged woman who is slowly pulling up her skirt on one side in an attempt to catch the attention of the younger men further down the pew, while her husband holds her hand on the other
The tennis shoes of the teenaged girl who is tracing the bruises under her blouse from the last time she started a fight with her boyfriend
They congregate for a common purpose, but
Their masks are painted on more elaborately than the Sistine Chapel
And
Their lies are built up more intricately than the stained-glass windows that surround them
As they read their words to live by from a book collecting dust in drawers throughout America because who could be anything but holy in a church?
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
I feel so lonely
after the setting sun.
Just like some lead
in a spagetti western,
holed up above the saloon,
feeling those four walls
are keeping me from running free.
I have to slam the door
'cause I'm going down
to see what I can see.
I like a little here and I like a little there,
I ain't no smooth operator and swag's just another tag
to try and get the young ones 'cause usually the older knows better.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC