by Belinda Roddie
Pineapple pizza just isn't for me,
though my wife adores it, and bless her soul
for it. I do not mind it if she eats
as much as she desires. A heaping bowl
of pineapple is hers, and as she rolls
the dough out, I can see the glint of glee
in her eyes. The cheese drizzles down like snow,
and she is lost in a pie reverie.
The fruit in slices settles in its role
as sweetener to savory. I stay
with my pepperoni as the heat grows
incessant in the oven. Yes, the day
I stop my wife from eating pineapple
on pizza is the day humankind falls.