Tonight's Poet Corner: Raw Dough

Raw Dough
by Belinda Roddie

If only we could have all

ordered pizza - stringy cheese

caught in our teeth, the laughter

stained with tomato sauce

and garlic on our breath.

We could have split breadsticks

and cinnamon buns, dipped the

bones of crusts into salty oceans

and devoured them, all without

adding more saline with tears.

Instead, some of you refused

the meal - not because you were

dieting or gluten-free, but because

your morals were dying

and your mind was free of remorse.

Or maybe you just craved

the suffering of others on your tongue -

it tasted good to you, made you feel

better about your spiritual starvation.

And hey, it meant you didn't have to

give the delivery person a tip, either.

I want to toast to life and love

with cider, but the carbonation

hits me like bullets instead of rain.

Pizza parties in America

just won't be the same ever again.