Puttanesca.

Before I gave up wondering why everything

was a lot of nothing worth losing or getting back,

I took out a jar of olives, a bottle of capers,

a container of leftover tomato sauce with onions,

put a generous portion of each in olive oil

just hot enough but not too hot,

along with some minced garlic and a whole can of anchovies,

until the mixture smelled like a streetwalker's sweat,

then emptied it onto a half pound of penne, beautifully al dente,

under a heap of grated pecorino romano

in a wide bowl sprinkled with fresh chopped parsley.

If you had been there, I would have given you half,

and asked you whether its heavenly bitterness

made you remember anything you had once loved.

Michael Hefferman