Fork (an acrostic poem)

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Focusing all his attention on his spaghetti,

Oliver slowly twirled the utensil on top of his spoon,

Revolving strand after strand around their tines,

Knowing that he was breaking his dead Italian grandfather’s heart.

Comfort (an acrostic poem)

 

Creamy mac and cheese gooeyness winked at her from the plate

Ordering it had been a close thing.

More often than not she would have just gotten the salad

Fork discarded, she hefted her spoon

Outside world faded away as she hefted the golden goodness into her mouth

Relishing as her tastebuds fully validated her decision

That’s when she felt the warm and fuzzies from her head to her toes.

 

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