Pasta Poem
I’m having PASTA withdrawal, here!
I have a Casarecce condition
an epoch Elbow gripe.
I am a Gemelli guerilla
married to Tommy Tortellini
who happens to be in a numb Noodle narcosis.
I live in petrified Penne poverty.
My revolver is stuck in a Rigatoni riddle
My bullets are ricocheting in a pool of ricotta
swearing in Shell shock.
You are playing with a vile villainess
wandering wired
without any Ziti-- zip
and now you dare tell me
we have no Linguini, no Spaghetti, and no meat for the sauce?
Goodbye!!
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