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.


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
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