Non-Erotic PoetryA Melt
I wanted it more
a liquid cheddar
or was it something different?
Not Swiss, American?
It confuses me, pickles
and mustard? I guess
I should ask Patty
a recipe between friends, strangers
it's hard to tell anymore
in the heat it all melds
together in that taste
clear and distinctive
unforgettable in fact
and to think a saint
might bless this bread
this meat, this cheddar
and beneath his stunning light
a meal, a sandwich, a melt.
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