Of Fake Cheeses
Two slices of whole-wheat bread,
with those nuts and grains embedded in it
Not overly-brown because that kind is bitter.
Two and a half tomatoes, sliced.
The small kind because we don't have the big ones.
Half of an avacado, very ripe, almost too much so.
Slam the knife into the thick seed, twist, and pull.
Sliced vertically, obviously.
A generous dabbing of mustard on the toasted bread.
Oh yeah, the bread slices were toasted.
Maybe some parmesean cheese, the flaky kind
because we don't have slices of other cheese
except the fake kind, which is wrong.
with those nuts and grains embedded in it
Not overly-brown because that kind is bitter.
Two and a half tomatoes, sliced.
The small kind because we don't have the big ones.
Half of an avacado, very ripe, almost too much so.
Slam the knife into the thick seed, twist, and pull.
Sliced vertically, obviously.
A generous dabbing of mustard on the toasted bread.
Oh yeah, the bread slices were toasted.
Maybe some parmesean cheese, the flaky kind
because we don't have slices of other cheese
except the fake kind, which is wrong.
posted by Stobux | 4:31 PM
1 Comments:
I considered going to the deli today, and I imagined the deli guy making a sandwich. Then I imagined the sandwich. Then I imagined the sandwich as a metaphor for life. Then my biology teacher yelled at me for not paying attention in class. I scribbled down a few notes, and here's the poem that came out of them. Results may vary.
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