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.
