This poem is not for people who
do not like pie.
It can be apple or blueberry,
but the crust must be buttery and flakey and
oozing with luscious, sweet fruit and,
perhaps a scoop of French Vanilla.
Like your grandmother made or anyone,
it just has to be good, in memory
even better.
There are many reasons not to have another piece,
all stupid.
There are many reasons to have another piece,
all good.
And we can demonstrate sufficient restraint by
not having ice cream with the second piece.
But really, why?
