the soggy sandwich

there

was the kid 

in school with cut

carrots

in his lunch box.

sometimes cucumbers

too in

a plastic bag,

shaved of skin, cut

into hexagons.

he had an

egg salad

sandwich with the crust

gone,

the bread

sliced in even

diagonal strokes.

home made

cookies, still warm,

a thermos of chocolate

milk,

and a note,

saying

be a good boy,

love Mom and Dad.

see you when you get home.

i'd stare

at my soggy paper

bag,

with a bad apple

and a baloney sandwich,

and say to myself,

i bet this kid

can't do

five pushups, half

of what i can.