Look! Up in the window! There they are!
Giant incarnations of all the pasta I've cooked
and eaten. Now though, once they've finished stalking me,
they will roll, hop, and squiggle,
perambulating each in their own fashion from
the Chase mezzanine, to cook me al dente,
then cover me with their own "special sauce."
I don't think I'd mind that sort of demise,
as long as I'm covered with a light coating of
fresh pesto and some nice, grated cheese.