I died for pizza—but was scarce

by Apple Dickinson

I DIED FOR PIZZA—but was scarce
Adjusted in the Bag
When One who died for Takeout, was lain
With an adjoining Tag—

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Pizza", I replied—
"And I—for Takeout—Themself are One—
We, Brethren, die", He said—

And so, as Kinsmen, met at Night—
We talked between the racks—
Until the Driver reached for us—
And carried out—our sacks—

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