Ode to a Knuckle Sandwich
by Michael P. Fertig

O, that sandwich, that sandwich made of knuckle.
It is no secret how you make me buckle,
Every time we meet I fall right to my knees
Just fleeting moments after you’re fed to me.

I asked for salami on whole wheat dry,
instead I got you slammed into my eye.
What did I do to deserve such a treat?
It’s prob’ly because you’re out of lunch meat.

Alas I’m not mad, in fact just the opposite,
When someone cracks wise, you’re there right on top of it.
And that’s important, as we’re all aware,
‘Cause most wise crackers could use a good scare.

You don’t come with a big pickle or a fat side of slaw,
just a natural propensity to lay down the law.
Whether served hot, cold, or on lightly toasted bread,
Lunch is about done when you slam into my head.

I honestly did not even see you on the menu,
But it has become quite clear that I must’ve deserved you.
So today I praise the brave knuckle sandwich,
Even if you made me cry like a sumbitch.

3 thoughts on “A poem – Ode To a Knuckle Sandwich

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