pasta flowers

rigatoni deflates

after ten minutes on the stove

as the packed ridges

collapse into a mess

of cloudy

heated water

blooming a flower

of transparent petals popping

with each bubble, moments of

time ticking around a

bud of yellow pasta

and television laughter

covers ross and rachel in

their latest spat of white noise in

my ears, as the warbling brays of

students below my apartment

ring bird calls of joy

at the door

my friends laugh, carrying

rolls of haphazard burritos

hot dogs of guacamole and

salsa, wafting tangy and

sweet chatter

closing the pasta flower

in my teflon pot, a simmer of

low heat warming my winter fingers

as i stir and desperately stir

deflated rigatoni