Not Sad Lunch Poem #2

A prose poem by F. John Sharp

Dear Plent’s Deli,

I don’t know how you define extra pickles as two, no cheese as one slice, half melted, or breaded chicken as heart healthy. I only know I love the corner booth on the days she works, the woman with the tongue stud and neck tattoos, whose name I can’t read on the scribbled check, of whom I’m lustful and scared in equal measure.

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F. John Sharp lives and works in the Cleveland, Ohio  area. He is the fiction editor for Right Hand Pointing, and his work may be found at FJohnSharp.com