Why I Love Ham Salad Sandwiches With Baloney
By T.D. Richards
In the cassock of her feed sack apron,
Mom moved in the kitchen with sacramental intent,
bending under the cupboard to withdraw
the oiled meat grinder, her mother’s wedding gift.
As her acolyte, I clamped the grinder
to the counter while she chopped chubs
of baloney and cranked them into mince meat
to mix with sweet pickle relish and creamy mayonnaise
and soda crackers that crunched and crackled
through the razor edged cutting plate.
She raised white Wonder bread asleep in its warren
to chaperone the ham salad spread made with baloney.
I got the meat grinder when mom died
nd my sister got the recipes I knew by heart.
I’m told there may be a final Feast to come.
If so, I implore that Mom be chosen to make
ham salad sandwiches with baloney
and I be invited to eat them ad infinitum.
Bio: T.D. Richards is a freelance writer who has written poetry as a way of sharing his lifelong observations from working as a prison warden, a college professor, and an inner-city pastor
By T.D. Richards
In the cassock of her feed sack apron,
Mom moved in the kitchen with sacramental intent,
bending under the cupboard to withdraw
the oiled meat grinder, her mother’s wedding gift.
As her acolyte, I clamped the grinder
to the counter while she chopped chubs
of baloney and cranked them into mince meat
to mix with sweet pickle relish and creamy mayonnaise
and soda crackers that crunched and crackled
through the razor edged cutting plate.
She raised white Wonder bread asleep in its warren
to chaperone the ham salad spread made with baloney.
I got the meat grinder when mom died
nd my sister got the recipes I knew by heart.
I’m told there may be a final Feast to come.
If so, I implore that Mom be chosen to make
ham salad sandwiches with baloney
and I be invited to eat them ad infinitum.
Bio: T.D. Richards is a freelance writer who has written poetry as a way of sharing his lifelong observations from working as a prison warden, a college professor, and an inner-city pastor