We once were two symbiotic peas in a pod
I looked forward to growing old together
I pushed you forward and you returned the favor
20 years we went through all seasons of weather
Then I noticed some cracks in our foundation
I never stopped trying to grow but you seemed stuck
I offered my hand to you hoping you’d catch up
But you swiped it away like a hockey puck
Others noticed you change but I remained hopeful
Unfortunately, people change and I can’t undo it
I removed myself from our shared business
I wanted to see if friendship was still befit
But again you swiped my hand away so I must depart
It hurts my heart but I’ve been preparing for this scenario
I’m going to take the silent but high road in this defeat
Perhaps someday we’ll once again be luigi and super mario
Perhaps not as I can still appreciate this closed chapter
I truly believe that in paradise
everything is perfect, everything is nice.
Hell, there, even souls from Russia and Ukraine
can toast newfound friendship with pink, iced champagne,
and laugh ~ about their ultimate sacrifice.
On May 11th, Hawaii did declare,
The pandemic's end, no longer a scare.
Federal word, the last state to know,
Preparing for changes in the vaccine flow.
Medicaid shifts, seniors in plight,
September 24th, the end in sight.
In early June, insurers did call,
Reassessing coverages, answers to stall.
July brought news, uncertain and grim,
Doctors from Honolulu, prospects dim.
August 13th, a reevaluation came,
Insurance updates, changes to name.
September 4th, last talks in the air,
Doctors and insurers, a tangled affair.
Neighbors noticed a front lanai void,
Paramedics broke in, stained glass destroyed.
September 30th, Hilo Hospital's care,
Unconscious, admitted, a fate to bear.
Rehabilitating now, seeking what's just,
Attorney in tow, a lawsuit a must.
In court, on the prosecutor's side,
Facing defenses, where Luigi will bide.
From issue to hope, a journey so grand,
Manus, Festus, Infestus – a fight at hand.
Three hot shots unlike normal men
Form and fill this diagram Venn:
Luigi the threat
Forms an ivied set
With Elon + Don from U Penn
He walked up Mill Street past the Foundry,
That citadel across from Nailers Row.
With eight kids and their mother as dependents,
He earned the pay that brought the bacon home.
An immigrant, he labored at the open-hearth
With Dagos, and Polacks, and Micks.
He had thirteen years at the Phoenix Works.
Eighteenth of February, nineteen twenty-six.
While Luigi tended the tap hole,
And Kowalski skimmed off the slag,
He proceeded to enter the gas flue.
To clean out the soot with a rag.
Nobody witnessed the mishap.
No one even knew who it was.
They recovered his belt and his work boots.
All the coroner said was, “Because.”
The paper’s front page told the story
Of a stranger who perished in hell.
They ran a correction, but misspelled his name,
Though his mourners were listed as well.
There is truth to this family legend,
But a mystery also implied;
He was burned beyond recognition.
Do we truly know who it was died?
I remember as a little girl when John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
Everyone cried, everyone gathered around the TV set waiting for word.
We sang the “Star Spangled Banner,” “God Bless America,” and “Oh Danny Boy,”
(Because, as my Grandfather explained it, the Irish and Americans were united today.)
And my Uncle Ryan and my Grandfather William even wore their uniforms saluting the set.
My Grandfather Luigi said that that was the beauty of this country, a melting pot.
When I looked confused, he explained we were like Grandma Sophia’s Spaghetti dinner:
The sauce was our soldiers, fighting and spilling blood for our freedom,
The pasta were the families at home, providing a framework for the sauce.
The spices were the people of many countries who seek freedom here,
And my grandmother represented the wisdom of our forefathers in combining it all to make something good become great!
To this day I can’t see the flag without shedding a small tear for family I’ve lost, like those old soldiers saluting the TV;
And traditions we’ve lost, like singing patriotic songs together;
But most of all I can’t help but crave my grandma’s melting pot spaghetti!
I had to travel through eight worlds to save Princess Peach.
But she's about as warm and caring as a blood sucking leech.
After killing seven fake Bowsers, I finally destroyed the real one.
I did it to save Peach but it was something I shouldn't have done.
She turned out to be a snob, she called me dumb and Luigi dumber.
She said that we're worthless in her eyes because we're just plumbers.
I had to fight turtles and Goombas, and I told her that I deserved to be thanked.
She said that I'm dust beneath her feet and I decided that she should be spanked.
I put her over my knee and I spanked that soft ass.
She cried and cried which proves that she has no class.
I was only given a few lives and I had to travel through thirty-two levels to be able to win.
I would've dumped Peach in the lava instead of Bowser if I had things to do over again.
The Village *****
in the sunlit morning I awoke to enter the village
a vast amount of seagulls flocked overhead
yet my soul permeates through the duration of the walk
an officer was assigned to watch the Lone Blue Lagoon a gay club
as I entered i melted in my seat there were men around me swarming me like a bee
a sip of wine and everything was so very fine
a whole host of finger foods were on a table
it was many years ago let the truth be told
all the way in P Town that a fare lad named Luigi had come out of the closet
although those many years would pass I still had every reason to grasp
the notion of a whisper while passing gas
Luigi today is known as the village *****
a Liberace of sorts with sweaters and torts
has a coffee shop down by the beach his bagels and locks are to die for
yes in 1975 he went to Studio 54
a hippie of sorts always dressed up in his shorts
very giving man let the reader understand
until the day he got busted for heroin it was all in the news
needles were found even in the coffee house's sofa
now the village ***** is doing time but everything is fine
people still come by and shine
My name is Mario and I have an ingrate for a brother, his name is Luigi.
Even though our games are in my name, he's always had it better than me.
He needs to be taught a lesson and it will be left up to me to teach.
The sorry bastard takes everything, he even married Princess Peach.
He always got all of the attention from our father and mother.
Now he wants our games to be called the Super Luigi Brothers.
He went over my head and asked Nintendo to change the title.
I'm so pissed off at him that I'm starting to feel homicidal.
I sued Hollywood Pictures in 1993 because they did something that really made me mad.
When they filmed the Super Mario Bros. Movie, they made me old enough to be Luigi's Dad.
I deserve seniority because I've been in more Nintendo games than Luigi.
I was in Donkey Kong and years later I was in Mike Tyson's Punch-Out as the referee.
Luigi had better learn that I will not take his sass.
If he doesn't shape up, I'm going to kick his Italian ass!
(This poem was inspired by the Super Mario Bros. Games.)
Two men were murdered in the Massachusetts town of Braintree.
They were Frederick Parmenter and Alessandro Berardelli.
Both were employees of the Slater-Morrill Shoe Factory.
The culpable individuals absconded with payroll money.
Two followers of the infamous anarchist Luigi Galleani
were immigrants Nicola Sacco and Bartolommeo Vanzetti.
Neither had police records, but espoused militant anarchy.
Both were connected to the Braintree murders circumstantially.
The two arrested men became world centers of controversy.
The first trial was filled with questionable testimony.
There were numerous requests from all over for clemency.
After two trials, the defendants were found guilty.
The twenty-second of August in 1927 was their last day.
Controversy about their involvements persists up to today.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
If given a choice of sausage or pepperoni,
or perhaps mushroom, peppers, or anchovy,
this is what I would say instead:
“I have tried a blonde and brunette, how about a redhead?”
There is a pizza place owned and operated by Luigi.
He has some of the cutest girls making delivery.
They are the sweetest things this side of Italy.
Just call Luigi, and one is on the way in a hurry.
If you do not like pizza, would you like subs or spaghetti?
For delivery, they cover a wide area of town.
The food and the women are the best hands down.
For me, I will take any girl any day.
I feel hungry. I will call them right away!
MIDNIGHT DATE AT HARRY'S -- June 1962
I know you're laughing.
Sittin there on that strait back chair
laughing laughing laughing.
Hey! Psssstttt....Maria....
you wanta see some dirty postcards?
Maria Mia when did you move to Italy?
What's it gonna be, he or me?
I seen you down to the market square
lookin like a five hundred lire lady shopping for
sweet potato(e)s.
Merci!
No, I mean Grazie!
I remember when we did Florence
Your mama was so hot they almost shut down Harrys.
Remember that big Madamoiselle
with herself spread all over the table?
Remember, huh? Remember?
She said she was French
but you sure pulled her cord quick didn't you?
She didn't even finish her gambretti cocktail!
And then that night
that night
it was the Pensione Piave
I know it was
dear me where does the time go.
your loving and devoted servant
Luigi.
ps:
are you still laughing? Ciao.
PIZZA
“Momma Mia”
Name of a pizza parlor
No bowling alleys
No pool tables
Just pizza
“We don’t deliver”
Sign above the counter
These old white tables
Checkered table cloths cover the dents
Wobbly white chairs
Joe Biscarelli
Owner of Momma Mia
Joe don’t say much
Let’s pizza speak for itself
Maria Biscarelli
Joe’s wife
Momma Mia pizza is terrible
Joe don’t care
Maria don’t give a damn
Hey! You don’t like Momma Mia pizza?
You ever hear of the Don – Luigi Biscarelli?
Thatsa Joe’s brother
You don’t like the pizza?
Betta shutta you mouth!
Yeah, so
I looked in the looking glass,
not much there to
write home about
except the cardiac veins,
they stand out,
and, of course, the
Caligula face pack.
In the blanket
battlefield,
crumpled sheets askew,
the dishwasher blonde
spreads like pale blood
on the pillow.
I could use a shave,
but what the hell;
she wallows in cheap paste,
resplendent diamante;
so fetch down that Capodimonte
statuette of the
Virgin Mary, Luigi,
I feel an occasional
prayer
coming on.
Yeah, so,
beat retreat, uncork
the breakfast bourbon;
in the gut swills
and gets to murdering pain;
jams a little juice
to get me on the road
again...
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