The Cheese Sandwich

Wraps its buffer of digestion 

around my pink, generic pill

for sadness—four slices; white, yellow, 

and perforated flavors on a Kaiser roll.

If rung up by its separate ingredients

it would still be the cheapest meal

in our car-plant cafeteria.

*

After lunch I’m smiling but still

trapped in the path of mass

production. Acceptance arrives

next, even some interest, in the nick

of time in its Guy Fawkes mask

for every indignity. I could almost

live this way, never mind

the constipation.