Sonnet for a Sandwich

My sonnet in response to V. Walker's National Poetry Month Daily Challenge #8: Poetry Prompt Challenge.

Welcome to Day 8 of National Poetry Month! Remember that if you’d like to take part in these fun challenges, please see V. Walker’s post with the week 1 and 2 prompts here and subscribe to her!

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April 8th Prompt: Today’s challenge was a classic Poetry Prompt Challenge. There were three prompts to choose from, and for some reason, I felt compelled to choose a prompt I would normally never choose!

My Choice, Prompt #3: Write a romantic ode to your favorite sandwich. Treat it like a star-crossed lover. Be dramatic. Be ridiculous. Be saucy (literally and emotionally). Do whatever you want.

This prompt is so funny to me, but I also think there’s so much potential here! So, I decided to write a poem about my favorite sandwich, which is what I call a “ham with little cheese” (that’s what I’ve called it since I was a kid, lol). It’s a white bread sandwich with some light mayonnaise and one slice of an Oscar Meyer ham and cheese loaf (if you’ve never seen one of those before, here’s a picture— IDK if it’s a southern thing, but it sure seems like a southern delicacy to me!). And just to give you some context— when it comes to food, I am the most BASIC girl you’ve ever heard of. I’m a super taster and very sensitive to textures. That’s what inspired me to make this piece.

So, without further ado, I give you— my Sonnet for a Sandwich. Based on Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 (my mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun).

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Yes… I did spend way too long editing a sandwich into this portrait of Shakespeare.

My sandwich’s bread is never toasted; 

His clothes, ne’er rainbow, are basic and white;

Some others are tall, mine is short and small;

If condiments be brooks, he has a pond. 

I have seen salads every shade of earth,

But no such hues do I see in his eyes;

And in some dishes, there is much more spice,

Than in the taste of my sandwich’s kiss. 

I love to prepare it, but well I know

Others have a far more pleasing allure;

I grant I never saw a perfect lunch;

My sandwich, when plated, is generic.

       And yet, by Heaven, this sandwich is rare,

       As any other thought tasty or fair.