Pizza

Pizza is taunting me – it plays
on cells within the brain in ways
that only chemistry explains.
I’m talking, freed of all restraint
a volubility which isn’t pleasant
should you share the room with me.
I’m not to blame – I never seek
the magic piece which always wreaks
such havoc; no, it comes to me!
I know I’m weak, I can’t resist
a wedge or two which will insist
on making me less taciturn.
I babble on because I’m free
of inhibitions brake, the fee
for which is paid in aching head
and agony belatedly.
© 20 February 2008, I. D. Carswell