[Martin Elster]

I wrote this one many moons ago.

For Lunch

For lunch, I often have an iceberg salad —
a shredded head of lettuce (nothing on it) —
and think of you, or have a bite of ballad
and miss you; or while noshing on a sonnet …
I hardly sleep and barely eat — doggone it! —
Since you had gone and vanished from my life.
When last I’d seen you, you had worn your bonnet;
you looked so cute! My heart then felt a knife
when you said you don’t want to be my wife
and ran away to live with that guy, Sam.
What happened, dear? We hadn’t had much strife.
But now I’m munching on an epigram
and thinking of that gal I met, Sestina,
who’s meeting me for brunch at the cantina.