Last night I wrote a symphony –
“Corrugated Recycles” I call it –
on the back of a pizza box.

It starts with strings playing pizzicato,
lumbers deep into horns covered in grease,
then cymbals, like giant pepperoni, crash.

The second movement creeps up the side
onto the top: “Cosmic Pizza” is all percussion,
rise and expansion, sustain, rest.

Movement three goes inward,
the most obscure and difficult part,
cluttered with crust and crumbs, real cheese,

stains too dark, too somber for any but celli,
summoning aged wood
like twelve year barreled bourbon.

Finally, up the inside lid, closure,
a simple melody to light the tunnel –
done in thirty minutes or it’s free.



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