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Pasta

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In the darkness of the pantry I wait
There I lay awaiting my fate
The pan is what I fear the most
Because it means that I’m soon to be roasted
Roasted and cooked
Simmered and boiled
Eaten alive or maybe dead at that point
I’ve seen the other boxes grabbed
Off the shelf to the depths of the pan
How sad it is to see them go
Because the truth is that I know
I’m next




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DeepCee said...
Aug. 3, 2011 at 2:12 pm:
scary poem...but awesome!
 
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