GLUTTONY



Over the hills and through the woods,
Goes Papa Gino’s pizza man.
Always, he delivers the goods
Piping hot, direct from the pan.


At the door the smell gets you first,
While he stands with the heat shield pack.
Right then, you feel your taste buds burst,
As he opens the pack a crack.


You pay and give a grateful tip,
As pizza scent pervades the air.
Before saliva starts to drip,
You slip onto a kitchen chair.

Reverently, you lift the top And watch pepperoni bubble. You begin to eat without stop, Though burns give your tongue some trouble. Tomato sauce is to die for, The mushrooms are succulent, too. A new speed record you try for. Delicious, and it’s all for you. You wash it down with a cold beer – So much, so fast, you start to sweat. Then from the other room you hear, "Did that pizza guy get here yet?" © Richard McCusker (jotoma@bellsouth.net)

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