The unfortunate event of the sandwiches

Bag packed,
a convenient space
for sandwiches.

Ham, cheese,
maybe a little pickle,
construction started.

A supervisory gaze
whilst placing the
upper slice in situ.

‘A little thick?’
came the authoritative query,
‘Within regulation depth?’

A grabbed ear,
between forceful
thumb and forefinger

The meagre lunch
rammed into a
blue weighing bag.

‘0.5 grams over!’
(a negligible amount I felt)
must have been
the thickly sliced cheddar.

And then,
the unfortunate me,
like a child’s toy,
tossed into the air.

The unfortunate event of the sandwiches

Standard issue boots
kicked me out of the field,
bursting open the gate,
scraping the tops
of the adjacent laurels
and clean over the hill!