A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,/ A Jug of Wine, A Loaf of Bread—and Thou / Beside me singing in the Wilderness—/Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
(I was making a sandwich earlier and…WP refused to format properly this afternoon.)
Quiescent, you wait, insensate
Upon the cutting board for you make no protest
While I consider cheeses and butters, spreads gathered
From shelves in the market as I  shopped last Monday.
Your crusts discarded or saved for toast, what further indignities?
 Cucumber slices,  patted dry between sheets of paper or  Marmite
Spread thin, an acquired taste they say, one of life’s lesser pleasures.
You were hopeful once, rising in a pan in a warm corner of the kitchen
 Then kneaded and punched down, an oven warms – your journey.nears its end.
“Hay Pan!”,  a baker calls as he places a hand-lettered sign in his window
Where Abuela tucks a loaf under her arm.  Gaspacho today,
She decides.  We shall sit under the arbor where the grapes have begun to ripen.