Samuel Beckett Orders a Sandwich

The bread

The tomato

The lunch

But for the category

And the category is the genre

The genre is lunch

Of which I’ll have

Did someone hear a fascist?

I thought I heard the drumming

Of the caw caw caw

Crow’s beak
Against my temple

Was it yesterday

I ordered a sandwich
Or today?

Aren’t I hungry?
Aren’t I always hungry?

How much more hungry

Can I get?

Don’t speak in riddles

They said to me

But what is a meal

But a riddle for your stomach

To solve?

Can I have cheese?
May I have cheese

I have no dietary restrictions

That I’m aware of

So the answer should be ‘Yes’

To both

And yet I hesitate

Because a slice of cheese

Combined with a crunchy pickle

Might sate me too greatly

And I should find myself

Not hungry at that other category--

Dinner

Are your pickles crunchy?

I prefer a crunchy pickle

A crisp not crass former cucumber

For my incisors to work their way through

I like the crisp crunch

I like a hard bread

Not enough to chip my chompers

But enough to make a sound

As I begin my trip

Into the culinary crusade

Prepared for me by you

Mr. Deli Worker

Do you want my ticket

With the number on it?

A number that tells you

When I was here

And where I’ll be

Until you call me out

Yesterday I was eleven

Today I am four

Was I earlier yesterday

Or were you simply

Not as busy?

Funny the labels life gives us

And yet I don’t mind waiting

Provided I know

What it is

I’m waiting for

And who

And where

And why

Is your lettuce fresh?

Is your mustard spicy?
Is your side of coleslaw

Especially creamy?

I’m a simple person
With simple needs

But in order to feel

As pleased as punch

A funny expression

I’ll need the crisp runch

The fresh flare of green

The spicy spot of yellow

And the creamy cascade of slaw

Even a peasant is entitled

To a decent meal

Be it not breakfast or dinner

Or those odd times

Invented by man

Known as brunch

And snacks

And snacktime

And supper

I ask for nothing but a sandwich

And even that may be

Beyond my grasp

A plate to put it on

A napkin to dab with

A customer survey

Asking after my dining experience

These are all things

That would be lovely

But are not required

I can live with so much less

And I have

A man can’t go through life

Expecting potato salad

When so many are starving

I ask for only the most mediocre

Of ingredients

Prepared with care

And served with pleasure

Can you do that for me?

As you can see

I’m a man of few words

But a very inquisitory

Appetite