My lunch is wrapped in plastic
made at a university store.
Whipped from a sudden silver service
it's holy cheese in doppelganger mayonnaise.
No longer is my mouth the only consolation
but here I'm bovine-beaked between
bread and half-hour break
Deep into the forest I'm red
from the crinkle in the beetroot
salty from the crunch of celery stick.
Pawed and pampered by this creamy underworld
I am consumer consummated.
Dreamer satiated.
Except, against a lonely snow-pea shoot
I have one more craving in this story
to bring you down with me, dear reader
to the bottom of the poem.
Helen Hagemann, Joondalup Western Australia, 22/8 at midday.
http://www.geocities.com/helen_hagemann
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