Here’s another quirky little poem related to my general bookishness. I’d never really encountered a cucumber sandwich outside of old time depictions of classy tea parties, especially Victorian books and plays. Turns out there’s a certain kind of fancy party I was not invited to very often, before my friends and family started to get married and have bridal showers, where these dainty sandwiches are still present. When I saw those little sandwiches, I geeked out like I do over anything I’ve only encountered in books before.
Hmm, you know,
I’m not sure I’ve ever been
at a party fancy enough
for a mimosa bar and tiny
little Cucumber sandwiches.
The only thing I can think to do
is quietly stand in the corner
and quote “The Importance of Being Earnest”
to myself, under chatter so loud
I could shout about
no cucumbers to be had,
even for ready money
and no party-goer would notice,
This is why I don’t go out more,
also why I should go out more,
but mainly why I don’t.