Lunch Pail Poem

Be my pal Joey. Stay home for 

the albacore unbitten sandwich 

beneath the Venetian blinds of my youth,

your uncouth legendary roaming 

through the gloaming not here yet. Nyet! Silvery

slices of afternoon levitate 

the urge to splurge on pancakes minus

syrup only extra butter for the plump

soft taste in unwanted haste I want 

all-day breakfast to consume my mind

and matching body bound for kaching-ing

for the income side of the altar of 

capital theology synonymous 

with unrequited constant hunger.