The Tragedy of Chef Mike

Two Michelin stars, a family restaurant in the heart of Sicily
In the shoes of his father, made of the finest leather
He was an honest man by all means
The great Michelangelo Di Portobello
Pleasantly plump, a right pleasant young fellow
Promising future, an entrepreneur
World renowned artist of the fine cuisine

But he never could have guessed what would happen next
His whole world would be torn apart
A ghastly fate had been brewing
Not at all of his doing, but inevitable

It was an otherwise beautiful evening
When an unfamiliar figure enters, green eyes gleaming
From his isolated seat he ordered all that he craves, and says
It better be quicker than a microwave

Micheal assured him there is no need to worry
But the critic looked earnest so he returned in a hurry
To a pot of bolognese nearing empty
And his kitchen staff nowhere to be found

Panicked and anxious in the kitchen his heart sank
Unclumped the order only to find the note blank
He had written it down, or perhaps he got nervous
He swallowed fear to go verify the order
But the restaurant was empty
He dropped down to his knees
And fell endlessly to obscurity
He woke up mounted, immobilized, yet aware of it all
His dreams crucified on a dim kitchen wall