I was in a window seat on an airplane, flying cross-country on a miserable rainy day. Even though we’d broken through most of the low clouds, there was still endless rain and not a sign of the sun. I busied myself with lunch, which happened to be spaghetti. I’m a big fan of spaghetti and have written several poems about it. However, it was so gloomy outside that I was not at all in the mood to write about anything. Suddenly our plane soared through the last layer of clouds to a beautiful blue sky and a bright yellow sun. The sunlight illuminated my spaghetti, and my mood instantly changed. I wanted to write something about spaghetti and the sun, but I couldn’t think of anything. Maybe I should write about the sun and some other Italian food….
As soon as the notion of other Italian food popped into my head, I thought of pizza. After all, most pizza is round, and so is the sun. Also, if you put enough cheese on a pizza and look at it from far away, it sort of resembles the sun. I decided to write a happy poem about making a pizza that’s so gigantic, it’s as big as the sun. Of course this isn’t really possible, especially since the sun is many times larger than our planet, but you’re allowed to do anything you want in a poem.
A Pizza the Size of the Sun
I’m making a pizza the size of the sun,
a pizza that’s sure to weigh more than a ton,
a pizza too massive to pick up and toss,
a pizza resplendent with oceans of sauce.
I’m topping my pizza with mountains of cheese,
with acres of peppers, pimentos, and peas,
with mushrooms, tomatoes, and sausage galore,
with every last olive they had at the store.
My pizza is sure to be one of a kind,
my pizza will leave other pizzas behind,
my pizza will be a delectable treat
that all who love pizza are welcome to eat.
The oven is hot, I believe it will take
a year and a half for my pizza to bake.
I hardly can wait till my pizza is done,
my wonderful pizza the size of the sun.