fornetti

pizzás fornetti,
így hí a haza néha.

come home,
i hear the little oven calling.

there’s no produce in the sauce.
orange glows on corners,
underground.

a frozen empire nursed us to warmth,
hardness baked into what’s soft.

now you know why they call us hardened—
EASTERN EUROPE STYLE K*RVA APÁD.

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