Ode to a Moroccan ex-Boyfriend, as She Shops for Passover

[readers who do not know much about the Passover holiday should do a Google search for "kitniyot," "Ashkenaz," "Sephard," and "Passover."]

Dark and handsome, and intelligent
(But not smart enough to be nice to me)
The loss of you is my gain.
Free, free of insults and lies.

But
in your blood flows the pulse of Africa.
Your table is laden with rice.
A small price to pay to be relieved of you, jerk.
But, sometimes,
sometimes,
how the heart yearns
For a nice bowl of lentil soup.