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photo: Ana Venegas


Poem of the Week

Ballade of Bad Sandwiches

Enjoy every sandwich—Warren Zevon

I ask myself throughout my flight delay:
why can’t a Whopper have more sauce and cheese?
Those footlong subs grow shorter by the day.
There’s skimpy bacon in my BLT’s,
and this pastrami is so dry and gray
I cannot drown its dreary taste in beer.
I ask a food-court worker, “Tell me, please,
where are the sandwiches of yesteryear?”

How long can mayonnaise or chicken stay
on sale before they give us some disease?
Who knows if food inspectors need to spray?
I balk at burgers as uncooked as these,
then panic that my tuna is passé;
egg salad leaves me nearly numb with fear
about E. coli’s harsh realities.
Where are the sandwiches of yesteryear?

I am not asking that they be gourmet.
Who needs more quinoas and organic Bries?
Who wants croissants that quickly flake away—
or honey dressing sourced from free-range bees?
Bring ham and cheese with chips from Frito Lay!
The PBJ apocalypse is near,
and yet the FDA remains at ease.
Where are the sandwiches of yesteryear?

We’ve lost our dietary liberties;
such times demand a lunchtime Paul Revere.
Now stand with me! Arise as one and say,
“WHERE ARE THE SANDWICHES OF YESTERYEAR?”

~ A.M. Juster
(For more funny poems, read our current issue.)