by Douglas Gilbert

Turning on the light
my hand made a shadow
that needed to be drawn

Thinking of you
I made a doodle on a paper
a scribble of a pasta in the past
when I made the meat balls
and you the sauciness

We were a cute melody that the swallows loved
as we fed them bread and spaghetti in the rain

and we sang our twisted song
as you carried your noodle soup, and
we stood in a puddle with your poodle
being strung out in tangles seeming tame


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