Pizza: A Poem With No Words

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Table of Contents

Introduction
Childhood
Adolescence
Youth
Conclusion
Reference

Introduction

Roman lyric poet Horace once famously said: “A picture is a poem without words (Galinsky, 2014).” In my rendition, pizza is a poem without words. And yet, I am desperately trying to put into words my love, my affection, and our everlasting affinity. I can’t recall how we first met, but the image got forever imprinted in the back of my mind.

Childhood

You were a childhood treat – a reward for good behavior or rather well-hidden lies. I get a flashback as swift as lightning, and I see myself as a kid in the backseat of my parent’s car – a little head full of ideas and pockets full of adventure. I’m begging mom to swing by the nearest Olive Garden on the way home. She’s reluctant at first, but when she agrees, I feel such immense joy that I can’t sit still. I remember the white tablecloth, pizza as hot and round as the sun and its puffy crust, and finger-licking tasty toppings (simile). In moments of nostalgia, I try to relive this experience, but chasing childhood is something I’m not good at.

Adolescence

Fast forward to my school years, pizza became something me and my mates would bond over. Lazy Sunday afternoon, the murmur of the trees in the backyard, and their evening shadows growing long and scrawny (personification). We’re sitting on the floor in my room at my parent’s house, playing video games and eating pizza. It’s almost automatic – we don’t care much for food as we care about playing, talking, and laughing. We finish another box slice by slice, and the comfort of my bedroom is so overwhelming as the time itself has stopped there. Matt’s parents pick him up first, and he takes some of the leftovers to nash on the way back. Children go home one by one. When I’m finally alone, I feel strange serenity that I may never be able to experience again. I didn’t realize how happy and careless I was back then. Now that epoch with its yells and shouts, silly jokes, and grease stains are nothing but a distant memory.

Youth

My college years are marked with ambition, insomnia, and striking ingenuity. I feel at the top of the world – away from home, free as a bird (simile). I think that when flying high above the ground, I see the full picture of my life. I am outstandingly and frustratingly stubborn about my habits, passions, and views. Sometimes, I am so overwhelmed by the beauty of solitude and self-autonomy that I shut down and stay up for hours past any reasonable bedtime. That’s where pizza reappears in my life again. It is my best companion – as warm and nourishing as it gets. Endless nights that I spend studying would become a little bit more bearable thanks to pizza. I splurge more money than I would like to, but I convince myself that my time is the most valuable resource. I am so caught up in the routine and the unexpected that I forget to eat. The pizza reminds me of my human nature and my human needs.

Conclusion

Whoever made the first pizza was an absolute genius. I don’t know food is more social and emotional than a pizza. It is a self-reward after a long day. It is something that you offer your friends when you want to cheer them up. It is a perfect option when you are running out of time and need to quench your hunger on the go (parallelism). So whenever someone tells me that I cannot have my cake and eat it too, I shrug in disbelief. Pizza forever has a special place in my heart and is there to stay.

Reference

Galinsky, K. (2014). Perspectives of Roman poetry: A classics symposium. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

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Pizza: A Poem With No Words

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