The Hungry Poet - a trilogy

A Poem Born of Hunger and Time

I think of:
the bread--with firm, cracked crust
in two parts, a matched pair--
and hidden, pressed between
(but with a hinting flash
of green
or pink
or pale cream
that may slip from out the golden loaves)
the curls of silken ham
and thick, dog-eared pages of cheese
dressed with the sea-waves of crisp lettuce
and all softly concealing the treasure
of two or three gems--
the sweet pickles
whose juice spreads to fill the empty spaces
of the white, white gold bread
--I think of my sandwich
and how many minutes remain until I might eat it.

A Poem Born of Hunger, More Time, and a Taste for Rhyme

I think of:
Bread in two parts
matched; and between
the cracked crust: a heart
of greens, rose, and pale cream
whose colors (how bright!)
slip from out the two loaves
to adorn (such a sight!)
each round edge tinted gold
And within these fair slices,
folds of ham like silk scrolls
and crisp lettuce ices
like the sea as it rolls,
thick, dog-eared pages
of cheese are there pressed
Then--the treasure of ages--
this marvel is dressed
with two gems (or three?
perhaps four?); pickles sweet
at the heart of this medley
--succulent, exsquisite--
whose juice will drip yellow
to fill the dry spaces
within the bread mellow
and blandness erases--
I think of my sandwich
and of the minutes until I might be allowed to eat it.

Reflection on the Eating of a Long-Anticipated Sandwich

The pickles
were old
theire flavor was lost on my tongue
and now...

the cold wind whistles
and stirs the crumbs in my lunchbox.