World’s Worst Poem, Plated

Perdonnez, signora, will you taste my
veritable vermicelli which lost a

Tagliatelle or gnocchi -or was
it tortellini or gemelli?- that cost a

Few dozzina homemade noodles: measured,
mixed, rolled, chopped, shaped, and boiled -hasta

Domani, questa mattina -when nappy
And wriggly rigatoni-head rastas

Dangle candid cannelloni for
colazione (o pranzo o cena o altro) sauced, a

Banchetto of bavett, bucatini,
bigoli, e barbina; which fosta

Amore, our home country joy; precious
mem’ries of mamma o zia o ci, who bossed a

Flourishing, famishing family,
practically-plated with a plethora of pasta.

If that doesn’t bake your noodle, you’ve lost-a.


Carrot Ranch Literary Society Prompt

16 thoughts on “World’s Worst Poem, Plated

  1. TanGental September 17, 2018 / 1:51 pm

    good grief I’m dizzy trying to read that out loud – did you take something herby with your penne over your way, because I want whatever you’re having. You are bonkers, you know that? And I definitely think you need to sprinkle your frontal cortex with Parmesan…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Chelsea Owens September 17, 2018 / 1:58 pm

      No, no. The correct pre-frontal topping is Asiago, especially for a case of ‘bonkers.’

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Liz H September 18, 2018 / 11:37 am

    Oh this trips over the tongue like the tang of an excellent red sauce!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Norah September 20, 2018 / 1:35 am

    Very clever, Chelsea, I’m guessing you like pasta. You certainly know a thing or two dozen about it. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Chelsea Owens September 22, 2018 / 8:34 am

      😀 I’m really not sure. Whatever the tune, there’s definitely an accordion involved.

      Liked by 1 person

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