To be fair I just turned up at my father’s wake
but I’m still bitter about the sandwiches served
Tombstones of margarined white bread
champagne ham shaved with square cheese
lettuce of crisp icebergs mayonnaised
But the women who delivered and released
their cling film shrouds had wide sympathetic smiles
this wasn’t their first bone rodeo
So as the empty afternoon dragged on, I directed
my regrets in one big dainty club sandwich at his not-wife
causing platters of blond crusts to curl in the heat
and tomato pips swim away in search of peat
No mourning champagne was served
