Pies&Poems

Pizza Flavored Love   Whenever I see a slice, New York style, I think of you.   your kiss hot with pepperoni grease, your tongue coated in mozzarella, your warm garlic butter breath on my neck,   It was the delivery my soul needed. Nacho Cheese Vitamin Supplement   inject me with enriched nacho cheese supplement, it’s the only way to get the vitamin D that this winter will never provide,   mainline that liquid gold into my veins,   press the needle into my flesh, then depress my depression like you do the hypo’s pump,   watch the ever-living smile march across my broken, furry teeth as you unsnap the tourniquet and see that cheese slide its way to my brain, my heart.   Jeremy Scott is from Albany, Georgia. He is @possiblyarhino on Twitter and in real life. His work has been published or is forthcoming in All Guts No Glory Zine, Angel Rust Magazine, BOMBFIRE, Fifth Wheel...

  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                  ...

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 force...