Spaghetti Woes, We Chose. Poem by Michael Gale
Spaghetti Woes, We Chose.
Tomatoes red and true...
Food and vegetables-blue.
Garlic and onions bend...
Beneath the cold running waters-we send.
Pasta salads drowned in vinegar...
Toss it all, be sure, you stir.
Begin to spit...
Because into it, you threw in the fur, you dim wit!
Throw it now out...
You'll have to cry and pout.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: food,running
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8/29/2026 2:47:29 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
