Writer #3: “Pizzas” Will Ever Be A Planet

Did ever a dog refuse a bone?
Or find itself unwilling to dig?
Could one lay still while another passed by?
To me, that seems implausible.
Over and over these thoughts cascade through my mind.
Rover, why are you the way you are?

She looked at my face and knew I was unwell.
Atrophy of my legs muscles due to sloth.
Tomorrow, she tells me, should be better.
Unless I refuse to exercise as she insists.
Reality is, I know she’s right.
Nurses I’ve preferred over MDs.

Pricking the outside, and scoring the skin,
Under which is a bright yellow flesh.
Peeling complete, I sink my teeth in for a bite.
Picturing tropical destinations in my mind.
You see what I’m doing here, don’t you?

My Very Education Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas.
An elementary trope to remember the planets.
Never will I accept Pluto’s demotion to merely a gigantic stone.
Get the hell outta here with that.
Of course, the sixth planet is my favorite.


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