A slice of bread is how I must begin,
So soft, so sweet, so lovely in its prime,
A jar of jam comes next, my knife goes in,
I spread it now; the lumps are past their time.
My stomach makes a hungry growl for food,
I place another slice of bread on top,
But once it’s done, I am not in the mood,
My appetites no more and so I stop.
My elbow hits the jar and time slows down,
The glass, it smashes as it hits the floor,
In comes my mum, she wears a nasty frown,
She sees the jam, retreats, and slams the door.
An abandoned sandwich and splattered tiles,
No more making sandwiches for a
while.
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