Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Poetry About Spaghetti

Noodles and strings, tomato sause and steam
I stare at my plate, wondering where to start

My stomach grumbles angrily as my eyes survey the food, taunting it

I reach for the shining silver fork that's cool against my fingers
It's soothing compared to the heat from the plate
I stab a meatball and begin my meal

My stomach is no longer talking as I stare down at my empty plate, stained with sauce
And I, am no longer hungry, but as satisfied as I could be.

And happy.

1 comment:

  1. This is so cute, I like how you wrote
    "I reach for the shining silver fork that's cool against my fingers
    It's soothing compared to the heat from the plate"
    Good job!

    ReplyDelete