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This morning something happened to me, something that has never happened before. A wave of raw emotion washed over my body in a way I can only describe as unimaginable. Everything I thought I knew evaporated in an instant, so much so that I felt I should — no, I felt — I must, recount the event in a rhyming couplet. The below is a poem about my morning commute and the extraordinary man that changed my outlook on life.
I am on the record saying I don’t meal prep
I don’t like leftovers, old pizza I will not schlep
Generally I am against bringing food to and fro
If it’s a day-old sausage it’s simply a no-go
So it will indeed shock both you and me
When I regale to you a hot man mystery
This AM I was on the metro minding my own b
When a sensual tingle came over me
I looked up from my computer and to my dismay
I was sexually attracted to a man I’ll call “bae”
“Ding Ding” when the doors as he stepped aboard
A nondescript businessman I would have normally ignored
But then I saw it in his left hand
The source of the tingle that activated my sweat gland
This item inexplicably made him a fox
Wrapped in bae’s hand was a fucking lunchbox
I looked first to his bicep, then all the way down
He stood there so confident, regal, and proud
What was in bae’s box? I needed to know
Could it be tuna on cracked sourdough?
His box was matte black and had a firm handle
How his fingers caressed it was cause for a scandal
I don’t know why I was so hot and bothered
Is there something about a man who has lunch conquered?
Maybe it’s preparation I find sexy?
Or his confidence in using a such a delicate accessory
Usually, I reserve a lunch pail for a child
But bae was a man and his box drove me wild!
I cannot explain this new found obsession
But I am only left with one final question
After work would you like to share a drink on the rocks?
Only, that is, if you bring your lunchbox. .