Lucinasto

Lucinasto

A horizon of green, littered with pasta plants

Penne hanging down from short stubby branches

A cob of carbohydrates, once boiled, can feed a family

According to statistics, less than 300 people live here

Preying on the pasta

They crush their own grapes

Turn them into sauce

Then slaughter one of the less enthusiastic children, and churn them into mince

‘Tis a cruel comune

– Scott Sandwich

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Filed under Poems & Poetry

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