cold cut animists
aware of the souls
in slices of unheated salami,
bologna, ham, liverwurst,
turkey, roast beef,
other meats and
sometimes cheeses
scarcely need to be told
that when the hot co-ed
at the sandwich station
of  Buzzy's Lunch Stop
slaps this or that
concoction together,
each has a personality
and its life an arc
entirely its own.

once she's picked
the type of bread or roll,
combined and stratified
the meats and cheese,
weighed out each sub's
portion of salt, pepper,
mustard, mayo, vinegar,
lettuce, tomato, onion, peppers
and what-have-you,
and rolls it up
in clean white paper
sealed with tape,
its consciousness springs to.
it revels in itself.
it then tunes in
to what is happening.

all those voluminous ears
come alive, each to its
frequencies, to note
the clink of soda bottles,
rustling brown bags,
rattling keys,
voices leaking hunger,
car ignitions, music, traffic.
what does it mean?
how does this constitute a life?
what is the sub's reaction
to those alterations
in the scheme of sound
that signal the Unwrapping?
at last, the faint smack
of lips unlocking?