Sunday, August 28, 2005

White Nights.

Macaroni boils in
two inches of water
for so long that the whitish
bubbles of pasta glue fall below
broken shells.

Half the package is burned to the
bottom of a stainless steel pot
and starch deposits run white
lines up and down the sides
like layers of stratus clouds
that mark up a late summer sky,
tired after a season of
lysol and aspartame injections.

Pour the shit down the drain
and claw at hardened pasta.
The fork rips tiny shreds in
the layers of stale semolina flour
as glops of pasta matter drip
into the sink.

Spray it with hot water and
feel the green mix of steam and
newly borne mold strains rise
into your sinuses and flecks
of decayed wheat spores spiral
about the sink
downward.

But then the water stops and
the rapid orbit of particles falls
into a lazy suspension
dispersed about miscellaneous
chunks of hamburger and
onion and cheddar cheese

until the fork grinds into the drain
and churns the clot
in haphazard circles
that release more shells up
into the atmosphere
and down the pipe.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

i like this.