YESTERDAY'S PIZZA

4 7 R Y E S T E R D A Y ’ S P I Z Z A J O H N T A L B O T overnight is grown Elizabethan. I approach awed and appalled this headless ru√, as to the bludgeoned bust of the philosopher. That I lack full three-quarters of a whole has hit me plain as a pie chart. Just how far ambition bored ahead before succumbing stares at me from a beggar moon and probes the nose with its cold savory. Pizza – only yesterday rising in the yeast, just yesterday spiraling in flight above the hand ordained to spin it – how am I brought down to sup upon a leper? How is love gone dogma? Remnant newsprint. Stripped shucked and cast-o√ post-op latex. Grandfather gooseflesh glimpsed beneath beige polyester leggings by the bridesmaids of the supple bride whose day this is. And so, good morning, pizza, but good night, the time was always short, and time has come to own up that your time’s come, and mine is coming. ...