Juan Uys

I am a salt beef sandwich.


Lunch. Market. Point. Nod. Pay. Parcel. Walk. Left. Walk. Right. River. Bench. Sit. Unwrap. Bite. Thought.

I am a salt beef sandwich.

Red cabbage. Filler. Somewhat indigestible. Might leave you feeling bloated.

Salt beef. Both things your insurers want you to consume less of. Aptly beef, as I hail from the country of biltong.

Bloomer. Consider me a staple. Or perhaps I presume myself to be necessary.

Horseradish mustard. It stings. It makes your eyes water.

Pickle. Recoil. Squint. At least you’re getting veg.

Butter. More salt. And this time fat. You know you shouldn’t.

Emmental. As if the butter wasn’t enough. Could very well be Swiss - not the diplomacy, but the holes.

Butter the two slices, and sandwich together with the cheese. Griddle both sides on a hot pan until melted. Open up, layer the pickle, the salt beef, drizzle the mustard sauce, and close it again.

Enjoy. You might not feel like one again any time soon, but please do make an effort. The world can be a lonely place.

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