A Pasta-ed Life

When a woman

With two first names

Exclaimed to me

‘You’re a noodler’

As I carefully placed

Each bit of bark

Back in my yard

From the sidewalk 

Onto which it strayed,

I initially cringed 

At the comparison

To a limp tube of flour,

Egg and salt afloat

In a boiling pot of water. 

But now that I’ve seen

The light, having a mind

Comprised of compulsive

Habits like a bowl

Of rigatoni 

Piled high and

Arranged perfectly or

Like a poem that enchants

With each line repeatedly

In rhyme,

Is satisfying beyond

All words, a compliment

Sublime.