A poem about cutting a sandwich the right way and eating it while watching a show about Hunter S. Thompson, for a couple of minutes, before moving some bales of hay.
Spooning hummus on wheat bread
laying on a floral plate.
Should it be left,
left alone,
cut down the middle,
or sideways,
my knife awaits.
Am I being too careful?
Am I just too careless?
Why should the cut matter so much?
Should I even bother to make it?
This cut could mean a better meal.
This cut could mean a better life.
This lunch has to be quick,
I have two bales of hay to move.
I cut sideways,
sit down in front of the television,
watch a show about Mr. Thompson.
This sideways cut may have saved me
from Mr. Thompson’s fate.
It made me feel happy,
if only for another day.
lol. Almost anything is better than being a Hunter S. Thompson. 
Before I had this sandwich I was a bit depressed, making it, cutting the sandwich sideways, and watching a show about a guy that fell victim to his own depression while eating it, actually made me refocus into realizing that the little things in life can give us happiness for a moment in time to get past depression. I wish Hunter had cut his sandwich the right way.
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