you be the salt shaker and I’ll be the pepper

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how cruel the morning light is
when it hits your face upon waking up
the stray rays more valuable than your face
and twice as pleasant to gaze upon

your will breaks under the pressure of a lake at noon
oh, excuse me, I seem to have misread the lines on your forehead
the contents inside are not worth protecting with thin plastic wrap
the bubbles trapped inside don’t help your complexion at all

add the two of us together
you with your constantly rude demeanor
and me with my sniffles and unpopularity
and you’ve got a dinnertime staple

there’s not much you can do to make a pizza better
except maybe pass off the black olives to another
too bitter for a delicate taste devoid of sugar
and too upstanding to dare waste anything possible

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