Friday, June 12, 2015

On A Lighter Note...

     I'm feeling better overall, but not quite up to my usual amount of writing. I don't want to completely disappear, so I thought I'd share a poem I wrote awhile back. Since my last few posts have been about uplifting topics such as rejection, rape, and surgery, I thought I'd lighten things up a bit with a poem about how I was getting sick of eating nothing but sandwiches for lunch. Enjoy…


Untitled

All morning long
my stomach sings its song.
Groan, grumble and gripe.
Feed me, feed me, feed me.  I’ll do anything for a bite,
don’t make me wait ‘till night.
Ooh, lunchtime you say?
What will it be today?
Soup, salad or stew?
Spaghetti with sausage? Sushi or fondue?
Oh no.
My nose smells sourdough.
No, no, please no,
not another…

Sandwiches, sandwiches everywhere
in my refrigerator, in my lunchbox, and even in my hair.
Sandwiches, sandwiches everywhere
too many to eat, and too many to bear.
Why can’t you hear my cry of despair?

Me oh my,
why oh why,
not even on a slice of rye.
I’ll do anything for a piece of pie.
Not even a fluffernuttter,
heavy on the peanut butter
could cause me not to sputter.
Neither white nor wheat nor miracle whip,
nor a wrap whipped up in a snap
could make it taste like anything but crap.

Sandwiches, sandwiches everywhere
I have a hunch that whether it’s for brunch or a munch
or with chips to add a tasty crunch,
that I will no longer care to have this for lunch.

From my refrigerator or the deli at the mall,
I have tried them all.
Turkey with tomatoes or tuna on a tortilla.
I used to think that nothing was better
than a little ham and cheddar.
Mayonaisse and mustard and mozzarella with mortadella.
Or pickle and pimento on pumpernickel with pepperjack.
Pepperoni, pita, or Panini
can’t I please have some fettuccine


“You are what you eat,”
my mother always said whenever I wanted a treat.
So without skipping a beat,
she’d take away my sweet.
So, I ask you?
What does this mean and what am I to do?
For is there any debate
now that I have eaten my weight,
of what will become my fate:
Two slices of wheat
and a piece of meat.

Now I must end my song
that has gone on oh so long
For I don’t want to be late
for my lunchtime date.