Delicatessen

There are two slices of tomato in my sandwich
Similar but different cuts
Sharing juices and mustard
Pushed together and in full of each other’s insides

The meat is at communion with the lettuce
Like a sea cow and its cud
Little is said
But no words are really needed

The bread is a wonderful metaphor
Which eludes me
And I can feel it smile
Like old wallet pictures

A cold drink completes the countertop
Like a sentry at a wedding
In a time of family war
It drools and yawns like an afternoon spent in company

I open my eyes
And another note has disappeared
From the desk in front of me
The ink is in my blood
The paper gone with heartburn