the lunch box

there was something
about the steel
lunch box painted
scotch plaid
or blue
with stars, or
cowboys on horses
riding across its
back. it swung
in your small
hand with purpose
and promise.
the thermos
gave it weight.
a white bread
sandwich wrapped
in cellophane.
was it tuna, or
peanut butter,
or god forbid
egg salad.
three vanilla wafers
neatly bunched
together in a small
clear bag. a green
apple rolling
about, thumping.
there was such promise
in the box, that
almost always
went unfulfilled,
but at least
there were no cut
carrots or celery
stalks.