sweet gherkin

i'm leaving you,
she says dramatically
throwing her long
black hair back
over her shoulders,
i'm leaving you
for another country.
I have other lovers
that are waiting
for me. they are
not like you. they
know how to cook
and bake in Italy.
they are chefs, born
with olive oil
on their skin.
they make
love with a spatula.
you have skills,
my friend
but they aren't in
the kitchen. hmmm.
you say, okay,
that's cool. you
continue spreading
peanut butter, crunchy
onto a slice
of wonder bread
and then the grape
jelly. you cut it
neatly
from one corner
to the next pressing
gently on the center.
so when are you
coming back?
you set the sandwich
in front of her with
a handful of potato
chips. you pour her
a coke on ice in a plastic
tumbler. so how long
will you be gone?
do you want a pickle
with that sandwich.
sweet gherkin?