I’ve got a full report from the sandwich committee.
overheard in a hotel lobby
Of course, I think baloney.
Of course, I think ham and cheese,
peanut butter and jelly –
those familiar duos we grew up on.
The ménage a trios of BLTs.
But I know I must be missing
the context, some definition
homelier than bread, more filling
than what we commonly slip between
two slices and take in hand.
Perhaps the committee
could not commit – torn
between mustard and mayo,
between white, wheat and rye.
Oh, the awesome
responsibility of any choice.
Everything depends on depending –
that message in between
which words get said, the underside
of utterance full
of import and ellipsis,
which is what I’ve been
left out of in this instance
of eavesdrop. I sit, limp
as lettuce on a day-old sub,
dressed, wrapped and ready
for take-out, knowing that
whatever the committee decides
will be both right and wrong,
both not enough and too much.
That no report will ever be full
enough to satisfy hunger for long.