For a Few Dollars More

Just off Union Square

we eat the finest pizza

served for a few dollars a plate.

The rest of the night, we spend

listening to overwrought poets,

but I cannot shake the taste of

‘Joe’s Super Slice’, of its warmth

on my tongue, the ripened peppers,

the undercooked dough. As we stroll

to the hotel I demand more, we return,  

but it's not as sweet as it was before, and

I'm disappointed that our night has

come to this sad denouement.

You remind me firmly, that compared

to the awful poetry, this is the second

greatest experience of your life.