Prompt: I’m going to retry the ottava rima. I felt like my first attempt was crazily shitty.
It is eight lines in iambic pentameter with a rhyme scheme of abababcc.
A proper pizza – joy made circular –
is cooked without the fuss or pretension
of goat cheese, organic herbs, sauce galore,
these false idols do not warrant mention.
A proper pizza – at its cheesey core –
suffers no pesto, no feta poured on.
A proper pizza rises far above
a lesser food made with your hippie love.