The old Pizzeria

A dim flickering light guides the way inside

To a dusky little room with a worn counter

On the right. Behind the counter is a dry

Old soul trapped within the confines of a

Beguiling young woman. “How many in your

Party?” She proceeds to ask, as you look into

Her face. “Just one” you claim as she glides

To lead you to your seat. “Here I have a

Booth that should suit you just fine. I’ll

Leave you for a moment.” She turns and walks

Away. You look around surprised to find

The dimness has started radiating brightly.

You start observing tarnishes all around

The floor, the ceiling, the walls in between

Even the decorations lack perfection.

Yet somehow it fits with the lady up front

That there be usage to her building.

As you continue to look, you notice a stone stove

That might be older than time. It belongs in

Rome during the past, not here in modern day.

Yet oddly it harmonized with this old soul, found

In an urban setting. They both have stories

And wisdom to share, if one would only listen.  

“Are you ready to order? Or would you like another

Minute?”

“I’m ready now, a Margarita pizza please, and a

Conversation.”

“I’ll have that right up, no problem at all,

But a conversation will cost extra.”

“Sit right on down, forget the pizza, and tell me about

Yourself. This place is so worn, as are you, rest

And enjoy your evening.”

“Worn we are, but we like it that way. It leaves us

With many connections. For we both like to talk

And we both like to serve; helping others

When they are struggling and afflicted.”

“That’s marvelous,” He exclaims as he ponders

Why a woman like her would do this. There

Is something off, something not right, with this

Woman here before me. She looks so young

Yet to hear her speak, one would think she

Was in her seventies. She should be out in

The world, not locked away in the humble store

Yet here she is and here she will remain, forevermore.