LUNCH

The sandwich sits on the seat beside me

It is fresh, just made, and its texture

still new.

There are four hours left

before we are allowed to meet

but it sits so ill at ease

waiting

for dialogue.

Breakfast

has been long forgotten

hearty and balanced

though it may have been

The sandwich

is like a new boyfriend

who knows nothing of the others

and is only interested in

now

and even though I look away,

out the window at the swaying policeman

who is trying his best

to get me out of this intimate

compromising

position

and clear up the traffic

so I can get to a place

where we can part

the plastic bag rustles –

A bite

I tell it

will ruin

its own proportions

for later

are its last words