FOOD POEM

Cold Pizza
By Jennifer Mills

You are a holy triangle
of cold and congealed fat.
How delicious you are is magical,
Like a rabbit coming out of a hat.
I always knew I loved you so
and yesterday I knew,
No matter how rich an fancy I get.
I will always love you.
I’ve had caviar and T-bone steak and
cheese that is fine and old.
But nothing ranks as high as sweet
pizza who’s grown cold.

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