Pizza Party

One of us has got to pee.
I’m stuffed. I hope it isn’t me.


Pizza Night

Waiting for my wheel of dough
And sauce and melted cheese, to go,
The crowd about me waxing, waning,
Surging, slouching, some complaining
‘Bout the line or how expensive
Extra cheese is, hypertensive
Family men in meat withdrawal,
Dangly children whining, “Aww, we’ll
Never get our pie. I’m starving!”
Stoic pizza jockeys carving
Pepperoni discs so thin
Their bottom’s where their tops begin…
Same as every Friday night
For years. I must be living right.

Leftovers Pizza

Pizza comes in many forms:
Cheese and treated meats are norms,
Along with vegetables or fish.
It’s truly an eclectic dish.
Mine tonight has mozzarella
On tomato sauce with, well, a
Random stack of stuff I found
Inside the fridge, all spread around
On top: Black olives, wilted spinach,
Piña chunks I didn’t finish
When I sliced it Wednesday night.
It’s prob’ly going to taste all right,
But even if it doesn’t, hey,
It’s pizza! Even bad’s okay!

Friday Night Feline

The cat opines our plan should be
To stay inside tonight. We’ll see
What treasures might the pantry hide;
We’ll line them up and then decide
With which we’ll sate our weekend craving.
Think of all the cash we’re saving!
Plus it’s raining out. In here
It’s warm and dry! The choice is clear
(Opines the cat): Stay home tonight!
But…pizza! *sigh* She might be right.

Item Number 65727

We all have our hobbies. Mine
Is standing in a Costco line,
Apparently, on Friday night.
It’s certainly a weekly rite
And has been fifteen years or so.
Them’s hobby numbers, right? Although
It doesn’t help me to unwind
Or recreate. In fact, I find
My urge to stand here wanes or waxes
With the crowd: A large one taxes
My enthusiasm for
Enqueuing on a concrete floor,
And all this month (which means all year)
The whole town spends its Fridays here,
Or so it seems, and I know why:
$9.95 per pizza pie.


Pansies are the perfect pet.
They rarely make the carpet wet
And if they ask to go outside
They’re happy there until they’ve died.

Park a pansy by the pool
It waits until you’re home from school
And if you have a game that day
It doesn’t pout while you’re away.

Pansies, too, are seldom picky.
Wet food makes their stamens sticky;
Water’s all they really crave.
Just think of all the cash you’ll save!

Practicing your slide trombone?
With Pansy there you’re not alone.
Mortal Kombat days on end?
The pansy’s cool, and still your friend.

Put your pansy in the sun
And look at it. All day. What fun!
Read your pansy’s horoscope
Out loud to it (it gives it hope).

Cats and dogs and even ferrets
Next to pansies can’t compare. It’s
Pansies here (holds hand up high)
And all the rest (chops lower thigh).

Don’t like pansies? That’s all right.
I’ve no dog-flower in this fight.
You can choose a loser, long
As you can live with being wrong.

Pansy, pansy, pretty plant,
I’d quit you, but you know I can’t.
Stigma, style, ovary:
Sex for you means Love for me.

Pizza, whether cold or hot,
Is tasty, but a pansy pot
Is so darn sweet it’s nearly creepy!
Got to go now. Pansy’s sleepy.