Spaghetti

“Too brittle and he’ll break”
“Too mushy, a disgrace”
These words traversed my mind,
I prayed they’d toss me on that plate.
From rolling dough to rolling boil
But how long would they wait?
And how much salt to taste,
Lest I be left too bland, too late.
I fought currents, swam afraid
In tangled darkness, danced and swayed
While all they saw were herbs and sauces
In the pan where I’d be laid.
So forget about consensus,
I’m still swirling here defenseless.
I haven’t ditched the pot in several years
But I’ve been strained.
No herbs, no sauce, no salt could
Fix a dish that’s left to waste.
One pinch of care might take me there,
So I’ll stay here just in case.