The Daily Poem

INFINITY SANDWICH CUBES

The aerial delicatessen serves

   Infinity sandwich cubes

That taste like Cinnamon Fin hors d’oeuvres

   Still wet from the harvest tubes.

They send a dozen icy trays,

   For Tuesday-nighter's church.

We sing and dance our songs of praise,

   From our communal perch,

Where the aerial delicatessen serves

   Infinity sandwich cubes.

And when we’re done, we simmer down

   With Bubble Pearls on rye,

And not a soul refuses when

   Again the cubes go by,

That taste like Cinnamon Fin hors d’oeuvres

   Still wet from the harvest tubes.

~ D. Edgar Lamp (Novel Verse Form)