When I start my plate of tagliatelli,
It doesn't matter where I put my fork,
I get a huge massive dollop
Which I can shovel in with great satisfaction.

But as time goes on, and there's less and less,
Each bit of pasta has nothing to push against,
It's there, all on it's own, slipping around in the olive oil
So I have to chase it around the plate.

It gets to the point where it's no longer worth the effort
Necessary to catch these last few
And so here they are,
Covered in mould on the side board.