Saturday Evening at the Corner Italian Restaurant

Her voice rises in climax.

He draws breath and crescendos.

In the background,

Pots and pans simmer on the stove

Water splatters against the sink and silverware clink together

As the dishwashers clean

The dining area clamors with white-collar and blue-collar workers

treating sweethearts to something special.

Her corkscrew curls spiccato as she shapes the bread

He fell in love with those curls,

abroad in Paris,

where the city of love filled his mind with wild flights of fancy.

Before they came to America

and to a three-bedroom house and mortgage.

She shifts into a higher key,

arguing even more fiercely.

"Try to be reasonable, Madam!" he implores.

"I am being reasonable!" she huffs.

She begins to tremolo

The customers, who until now have been eating placidly,

turn a cautious glance towards the kitchen.

The couple's arguments grow even stormier

Customers crane their ears

It all sounds like some delightful soap opera

and no one wants to miss a word.

They come out arm in arm

Her hair has fallen out of its bun

and her apron is stained with sauce

His face is red and blotchy,

but still they purr like sleepy cats,

And then the patrons relax,

for they know that this food was made in love.