Sandwich Poem

By Naomi Taylor

I hate making that mans sandwiches
Oh sure he needs his beef
I can understand that
But it causes me such grief

Along about bedtime
After the kids go to sleep
I am reminded
I still have a duty to keep

I actually get a little depressed
How silly I am
A kind of sadness in my chest
Over bread and ham!

How many years now
Eighteen, maybe twenty
That I’ve made them
How many more to go, plenty

He always has the same thing
The mustard, the mayo, the meat
It needs to be on the big bread
And don’t forget the cheese.

Into the quart size bag
Then Into the lunch pack
add a can of pop
Don’t forget the snack

It takes all of 3 minutes
Yes I’ve even timed it
One thousand minutes a year
On a job I wish to quit

Some nights I’m ahead of the game
I make it early, before dinner
Don’t I feel happy later?
Those nights, I’m the winner

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