Marinara: a poem

Staff Writer

You ever walk into Albertsons, and into the sauce aisle of the store,

And you browse around the shelves, to find a purpose reborn,

When you come across marinara, and the label says “Best in Town!”

So you listen to the sauce, and say “Hey, I guess I’m down,”

And then you ring it at the register, and carry it on home,

Through the same route you walk everyday, walking alone,

Never questioning the sidewalk you take, or the sauce that you bought,

Relying on the advertisements made by people, and the plastic facades,

Until you finally get home, and take the sauce out of your bag,

And read the three-step instructions, like listening to your dad,

“Pour the sauce into a microwavable bowl,” marinara says,

“Heat for three minutes,” and “Let the heat rest,”

‘Til all’s said and done, you’ve made a bowl of sauce,

To find that the sauce tastes bad, and your youth was the cost?

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