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Got The T-Shirt: Journey In The Pizza Palace

The mind can travel far while waiting in line for a pizza, as Steph Spiers' poem reveals.

To read more of Steph's prize-winning poems please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/got_the_tshirt/

I wait in line:
Monday pizza oozes its melt.
That melt
squeezed from mozzarella
in an oven’s holy silvered place.
The heat makes it special.

The same heat
I bask in, waiting watching TV.
Melts the shallow hypocrites,
ousting a Dictator.
While thick smoke floats
over the debris of Baghdad, bombed out
Iraq.
They still live on in
voyeuristic TV bulletins.

White smokes crowd my senses,
mouth-dust, mote of eye.
They rest, on the salivating edge
of precipice.
That threw those into the ether
Aga’s glare like volcano
incandescence.
It is a throb
this calamity of life.
A glittering prize the world will squander.

At last! The cardboard box arrives.
‘Can I have
jalapenos on that to go?’


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