Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #358
Pineapple Pizza
by Belinda Roddie
Pineapple pizza just isn't for me,
though my wife adores it, and bless her soul
for it. I do not mind it if she eats
as much as she desires. A heaping bowl
of pineapple is hers, and as she rolls
the dough out, I can see the glint of glee
in her eyes. The cheese drizzles down like snow,
and she is lost in a pie reverie.
The fruit in slices settles in its role
as sweetener to savory. I stay
with my pepperoni as the heat grows
incessant in the oven. Yes, the day
I stop my wife from eating pineapple
on pizza is the day humankind falls.
by Belinda Roddie
Pineapple pizza just isn't for me,
though my wife adores it, and bless her soul
for it. I do not mind it if she eats
as much as she desires. A heaping bowl
of pineapple is hers, and as she rolls
the dough out, I can see the glint of glee
in her eyes. The cheese drizzles down like snow,
and she is lost in a pie reverie.
The fruit in slices settles in its role
as sweetener to savory. I stay
with my pepperoni as the heat grows
incessant in the oven. Yes, the day
I stop my wife from eating pineapple
on pizza is the day humankind falls.
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