A ham sandwich

At this time of year, we usually have at least a bit of leftover ham. It gets made into a few special dishes - one favourite is Claudia Roden's Antico Risotto Sabaudo, with ham, cheese and white wine. But most of it gets eaten with salad or in sandwiches.
    My neighbour Frances recently spent some time in a retirement home, recuperating from a hip operation.  Being the Christmas season, she did get to eat ham there. Unfortunately, it was served warmed up and covered in brown gravy. So I brought her fresh little ham sandwiches, and she devoured them. It set me off thinking about other ham sandwiches in my life...

My husband always hoped to find

A plain ham sandwich to go with his coffee:

White bread, butter, ham, a dab of mustard.

But all they ever had were flat panini

And giant croissants stuffed with cheese and bacon.

The year after he died, I went to Auckland

To see my sister. At the airport Wishbone

Lined up beside the lamb with green mint jelly

And the chicken with watercress and cranberry

Was a proper old-fashioned ham sandwich

With real butter. I carried it off

To a quiet corner of the concourse

Disentangled it from its plastic armour

And bit into its long exposed soft side.

I was seven again, sitting across from my mother

On a plywood chair at a white Formica table.

Hard to say who was enjoying it more:

Her, out on the town, her string bag bulging

With small exciting unnecessary parcels

Or me, freed from school for two whole weeks

Plunging deeply into the heady pleasure

Of a soft ham sandwich and a fizzy drink

In the neon light of Farmer’s Bargain Basement.