The Notion of a Sandwich

One understands the notion of a sandwich best,
I would suggest, when one subjects two tender
leaves of Jarlsberg cheese (from deli-slicers who'll
produce translucence) to two kindred pieces of
the thinnest white sliced bread (Pepperidge Farm
provides the proper slender fare) – less bare when

spread with just a dare of Hellman’s low-fat mayonnaise:
become four gossamer abstractions via two precisely
transverse cuts – accomplished by a sharp serrated
knife – resulting in abutting absolutely equal squares
inviting contemplation from Euclidian varieties of
areas and angles of the concept of an inside surface

and an out-, and how, in life, as symbols, they might
signal purposes which banish any doubt that unlike
species, given equal shares, might wed. A sandwich
doesn't make the cheese or mayo or the bread
get in a fight. Put in their rightful layers on my plate
tonight, they rather seem to hope I'll take a bite.


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