Pb and J - a poem by Connor

 Thanks to Connor Murphy for this contribution!

Trigger Warning: This poem briefly alludes to violent imagery. 

Pb and J

Lunchtime for Us

A little before midday

Finally, we can laugh and play!

Today is special, we think it’s true.

All our lunch boxes are red, white and blue!

They tell us this experience is brand new,

But I remember hearing about it, don’t you?

Our hunger cannot be held at bay

We open our bags and jump into the fray 

To feast our eyes on the most glorious Pb and J!

We tuck our napkins in our necks

Cloth, close to our chests 

A pristine Pb-proof vest.

Before we take a bite

We remember how to do the prayer;

“If you please, 

Hug your knees

And bow your head

Under a table or chair.”

We call this the Hibernating Bear! 

“Stop! Something isn’t right!”

Someone yells, giving us a fright!

“The J is spread too light!”

Another one of us says, with not much delight;

“Yeah, my J is too heavy! To lift it, takes all my might!”

Sandwiches in hand, we march to the cafeteria door,

Rata tat tat, Rata tat tat

Could we knock anymore? 

Ages pass and the Lunch Lady has the floor.

Her hair net brought wavy amber strands to rest at her crown

Sleeveless on the right, she wears her uniform like an elegant gown

Eyes with shadowy streaks below, look down

To Us 

And she says:

“What’s all the fuss?”

Our problem, we petition

With open ears, she listens.

“Which bread?

Wheat, Pumpernickel, White?” she says.

“Bread is bread, right?” someone replies

“Yes, no, maybe so.” The Lunch Lady muses.

“They all have different flavors to savor” observes another.

“No matter dear,

“Hand those slices here.” the Lunch Lady asks

“Then the balance will be clear.” 

She digs in her apron and pulls out a sodden rag of red

Drawn tight she shields her eyes and ties it around her head.

Pb in the right, J in the left; she hefts the bread.

Deep voices rumble in the recesses of the kitchen, requesting her recall

Jars of Pb and J left on the counter before the verdict is read

The Lunch Lady has fled. 

Towards spread equality, our feet patter

Red raspberry, strawberry splatter

The bell tolls for Us.

Chewing on mouthfuls of Pb

We form a procession of boxes and bags out the door

A silent ode.

Till the next reload.