In the delicatessen of giants
I am the processed sliced turkey
The holy baloney of poetry
Chopped liver
Let there be potato salad that knows no end
Creamy and chunky at once
Celery, pimentos, chopped egg
Mayo that goes out for the longass long haul pass
Brings back lunch on a shining deli tray
Morsels of wry wit, verbal shenanigans
Accounts of the beauty to which our lives may attain
Anecdotes of events gone hopelessly, hilariously astray
My words are merely a sip stolen
From the wine glasses of literary tzaddikim
Wisdom procured, fire of the gods
I have watched their loving placement of nouns
Their gorgeous adjectives, metaphors so easy
They seem to have slid off a greased skillet
Their verbs are potato knishes
Fluffy omelets, kugel, tea biscuits
They put their hearts on the line
To save sorry souls such as mine
With our little paeans to the mundane, the minutiae
Missing the mark completely
Someday,
I will nail that big friggin’ Reuben sandwich
That monster corned beef
A poem lean and mad as a manic plotzing yenta
Thick rye bread, yellow mustard
A fried egg planted smack on top
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