Bread Without Butter Poem by R.Benjamin Abate

The shacks are cursed
By water & bread-
There is no Calamari
Or Pesto Pasta with Pinot Grigio,
Or Baccalá with Pinot Grigio,
Or Fettucini Alfredo with Pinot Grigio,
Dinner is never complemented
By Cantaloupe & Gelato
No one will dream
Of Chickarees or Quokkas-
But, from time to time, an old Fisherman,
Sedated and asleep in his shoes,
Flies with sparrows
Through Disco-cotton balls
Falling from the sky.