The Unasked-For Sandwich

Came in late, the streetlights

painting lines on the wet floor.

The silence a heavy sheet.

Then, there it was,

a shape on the counter,

silver foil, neatly pleat-

ed, keeping it safe and cool.

Unwrapped it, a slow reveal.

Mustard, thin slices of cheese,

a tomato, perfectly red, no peel.

The way I like it, just for me.

No words, just the quiet proof

of someone knowing, taking heed.

A strange, small kind of relief.

Something I didn't even know I'd need.