Might there be more to our menu choices than meets the eye?
My sister and I eat pizza
the way our mother taught us
with reverence and gusto
Faux Italians
eating Greek pizza
in Sicilian style
Life has its occupational hazards
and occasional surprises
at times bursting forth
like the hot reservoir
of lava sauce
concealed beneath the cheesy surface
when teeth arrive
too hastily
Gathering at the table
comparing our differences and opinions
we struggle to make sense
of each other's decisions
because we cannot
be in each other's bodies
nor can we step
in each other's footprints
so poorly fitted to our own feet
Life offers many impediments to misdirection
that gather and sprinkle themselves
before us
like some Romano fairy dust
but they are easily missed
When pizza is the yardstick measured by
it is so much simpler
an 8-slice curve unbroken and unending
until someone makes the first bold move
and this is so easy to do
We can always burn our mouth-roof
in our haste
but the prospect offers little resistance
and we gleefully make our mess
with strings of melted cheese and life
connecting the burnt palate and the plate
to the greater whole,
and we giggle
like schoolchildren
It is a slice of life to be sure;
all the right ingredients
in all the right proportions
and the catharsis of convection
in the mystery of the oven
is what brings us back to the table
again and again
My sister and I wink and nod
for we still love pizza
and now we each order our own
with toppings most suited
to our own wishes
and our own journeys
we share in the experience
and no longer fight
over the last piece