my sandwich contains:
a portion of ham, a slice of cheese, a
smidgen of mayo and
a thick layer of disappointment
It was a risk, a calculated risk, how
well a sandwich, not bought but made, would be.
I took a gamble at 7am, staring at the
last slices in the open bag of bread.
I took a gamble at the mayo left out
all night, warm to the touch, slightly sweating round the edges
think of the money you'll save, I
thought,
how positive, how frugal, how healthy.
I took the ham out the fridge,
intentionally ignoring the thick lumps of potential gristle.
I cut the cheap economy extra mature
cheddar thinking, it'll be alright.
I made that sandwich, cling filmed it
up, popped it in my bag and,
forgot about it.
Till lunch.
I ate half the sandwich.
Betrayed, by all the good a homemade
sandwich could be and do and represent, that sandwich was a great
disappointment.
Worse still it was all the things I had
a feared a homemade sandwich could be.
Today I am having a day off from
sandwich making, today I am recovering from the trauma.
Today I am buying a sandwich.
And let that be the last we ever say
about it.
