The Lasagna Poem–a new poem

Homemade lasagne bolognese in metal baking form.

The last of the lasagna was
as delicious as it was sad.
They had made it together,
and now her daughter was back
900 miles away, and the 51
and a half week waiting
until she returned had started.
Just this day, it marking the
very longest day of wait
of those fifty one and a half weeks,
just this day she has begun
the dreadful countdown…
until she comes back on the 23rd,
the 22nd on a good year,
her exit made good
no later than the 28th,
her mother left
to not be dismayed
that the dish could have tasted
just a wee bit better.

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