Pies&Poems

  Halle Prenaeta (she/her) enjoys writing short stories and poetry and gets her ideas from random life experiences. When she’s not writing, she’s either watching YouTube or playing Animal Crossing. Her Twitter handle is @YaTheatreNerd . You can check out more of her work here .

  waiting for you      It wasn’t supposed to be this way  you weren’t supposed to be around  but you sent me a text your plans have changed    Here’s the thing though I just ordered a pizza  and waiting for it to arrive  is the best I’ve felt since I met you   So, maybe you shouldn’t come  I thought you’d be happy , you said  I am happy , I said, and I’m smiling  watching the delivery guy pull up       Florence McCambridge lives, writes, breathes, and contemplates in Toronto. She spends most of her time reading, baking, and chasing her dog, Finnegan, around the house. He likes to steal socks, that cheeky terrier. Florence has had work published in  Sledgehammer Lit ,  Dead Housekeeping , and  Twisted Endings . Twitter:  @FlorenceMcC  

pizza rats deserve the world nyc has the best pizza in the world and if you say otherwise i’ll fight you in the sewer with two rats tied around my hands and two pigeons lifting me up by the shoulders. one time my formerly brooklynite father directed me to luigi’s pizza. the sourdough crust made me want to transform into a hawk so i could steal slices from dive-bombed customers. 2bros cradled me through broke and drunken nights. artichoke basille replaced my heart. lombardi ’s could stuff me into a brick oven and i ’ d happily lick its insides.   my hometown is beautiful and impossible and we have the best pizza in the world. i went to maryland one time and had pizza in dessert pie crust. that pizza made me want to transform into a hawk so i could snatch it from customers’ hands and then fly back to nyc to get them some real pizza.   but lately i’ve been thinking about how nyc is just one cell in the animal of earth. i’m an anxiety dream turned flesh, built for chaos but n

  Adaptive Delivery Protocols     A thin crust was readied, spread by robot limbs Smearing barbecue sauce, sprinkling cheese on the dough Bits of chicken and pineapple drop down to trim The pizza hits the ovens, flash-cooked in a row   Its order prepared, the drone secures its load Soaring out from its station, high into the sky It darts past hovertraffic, finding the abode Of its latest client, awaiting their pie   The building is vast, shooting up past the clouds Though the drone stays far lower, its target in sight Weaving through the rest of the late-night food crowd It finds the apartment, still lively with light   A faint jingle chimes from the balcony door Accompanied by a soft tap on the glass The homeguard app vibrates the phone on the floor Its AI soon opting to let the drone pass   The drone floats through the doorframe, now in silent mode Finding its human patron, dozed off through the wait It scans for a drop-site with its

  Pizza Haiku: Thirds     Our first date pizza I don't do pepperoni do you still want me?   ~   Emotional holes are often filled with pizza temporary fix   ~   Decades of teatime served up many ways to love a goodbye pizza   Marie Little writes poetry and micro fiction and (shh) enjoys pineapple on pizza. She has work featured/forthcoming in various literary magazines/websites/blogs. Marie plays with writing prompts on Twitter  @jamsaucer

  Fruit Split   Petty, that something as cheesy as pizza might break us, but The Pineapple Debate brings out the worst in both of us. You fold up your face like cracked calzone at even a mention - It has no place! you spit chilli flakes grind the restaurant pepper mill like you are turning a rusty screw Pineapple! you growl It should be illegal! Still, I am quietly chewing savouring my favourite artichokes, bursting black olives with my teeth, dreaming of its sweet tang.   Marie Little writes poetry and micro fiction and (shh) enjoys pineapple on pizza. She has work featured/forthcoming in various literary magazines/websites/blogs. Marie plays with writing prompts on Twitter @jamsaucer

  QUEUEING AT GREGGS   What a difference a dough makes. Kneading her as if they’d never had that scorching row, hoping she’ll rise                                     and rise again after the next punching down,                                                 this time playful, grabbing by the handful, her giving way to plunging fingers sinking stickily   and being shaped and rolled and tucked into lightly greased pans, eased in by loving hands. And oh, so delicately                                     rising once more                                     - some call it proving – before the heat’s turned up, a gaze at her perfect dome,                                     and sliding her in to bake.   What a difference a dough makes. FAT PIGEON   Fat pigeon found a pizza on the pavement. She pecked and pulled             at pastry,             and poked pepperoni down her throat, popping nibs of corn between pieces of pine

Fraction Pie   I hated math, didn’t mind fractions, loved pizza, so naturally, when Mrs. T slapped those magnetized slices of pizza to the whiteboard and called them fractions, I lost it. The slices were two-dimensional, but I fantasized in 3D: thin crust that wasn’t  too  thin, orange-red sauce that was neither too sweet nor too tart, just the right amount of bubbly, browned mozzarella to cover all that tomatoey goodness. Math fell before lunch, a simultaneous delight and torture. On the board, Mrs. T mixed and matched the pepperoni slices with the plain, something I’d never dared to do in real life. I was a strictly plain girl, no pepperoni. 2 slices of plain side by side and 2 slices of pepperoni side by side represented ½ plain, ½ pepperoni. 3 plain, a magnificent cheesy trio, and only 1 pepperoni represented ¾ plain, ¼ pepperoni. Now fast forward to the lunch line, my Styrofoam tray held expectantly in hand. Plain or pepperoni?  the lunch lady asked with a forced smile. Both!  I s

  Pizza Delivery Guy by Matthew McGuirk   That’s the thing about being the pizza delivery guy, you always get those smells: the spice off the pepperoni, the decadence of the cheese and that crisp bread smell that really can’t be described any other way. The greenhouse effect is always present and the car is steaming on the way to the pizza’s destination. Sometimes you just get so hungry because Friday nights are so busy and there’s no time to grab anything for the road and wouldn’t that be distracted driving anyways? Who’s to say that you didn’t get lost along the way though, you’re sure that the pizza is much too cold to give to the customer and it’ll need to go back to the shop to get them a fresh one, on the house of course. Maybe you accidentally tripped and the pizza is a little sloppy in the box; I’m sure that would warrant a new one for them as well because really we don’t want unhappy customers. That’s the thing about being the pizza deli