To which protein
I owe my day?
To the social that makes me breath?
To the tiny that shuttle energy?
Or to the millions outside my body?
Many and unique,
Little soldiers with limited life and a focused target,
Proteins give me everyday
That molecular food
I cannot find on my table.
Tent and steaming,
Golden like the sun,
Fries condense joy of life and child-like behaviours.
Fingers are sticky,
oily stains on my dress,
And a bunch of fries
Like wedding bouquet
in my hands.
Spaghetti at the end of the adventure
In the evening of a Friday
With a bitter taste.
Sneaky but friendly
The pasta wraps me and my doubts
While the future holds a secret.
I am starving today
For those warm afternoons running in the fields
And those silent evenings reflecting on a book.
Food for the avid mind
And food for the temperamental belly
Do not overlap
And are complementary.
I fit my point like I fit my best friends
Connected by a line
Made of interests and good food.
One after the other
They enrich and trace the days
Otherwise white and smooth
Like a sheet of paper.