Notes About The Poem
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FOR THE LOVE OF PARMESAN
A squirrel named Lou lived up a tree
with tastes refined as tastes could be.
He’d sniff acorns, then pout and say,
“Again? I had those yesterday.”
One afternoon he found a plate
of spaghetti—fresh, al dente, great.
He twirled each noodle with such flair,
like a tiny chef with perfect hair.
He slurped a strand, then struck a pose
with parmesan dust on his nose.
He’d scamper off, then shout, “Encore!”
and steal lasagna from your door.
One day he tried a ravioli~
declared it “too square, too holy.”
But fettuccine made him sing,
and penne made him do a fling.
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