This week on Poet’s corner I have decided to share a poem by Cormac McCarthy, our Express Film & TV Editor. The poem is about delicatessens and will definitely make you hungry. I strolled through the city,Craving something with girth.Till I came to shop,And I laughed with such mirth.My stomach was rumbling,A roar unheard,But my conscience was quelled,My angst just assured. “centra” the sign said, So indeed I rushed in Ignoring the stench And Ignoring the din. I came to the altar The hallowed deli. “This”, I cried aloud, “Shall fill my void belly”. There was a queue naturally, For the girl behind the counter. Had we met another time I would have liked to mount her. The bastards in front Rendered me forlorn; Deliberating over Getting chives or sweet corn. Finally my turn did come My spirits did lift. But the poor girl was tired From an eight hour shift What did I desire? The same as the rest. A sumptuous bread roll, Filled with a crisp chicken breast. She looked at me And began to mutter I replied “I beg your pardon” -“Mayo or butter?!” -It was abundantly clear -From this point on -That this chicken roll -Would be all wrong -The girl had no passion for the art -Of preparing this pleasure -To her ‘‘twas a job -But to me it was a treasure. -So she handed it to me; -Halved in white paper. -I took it with caution -And said “ see you later” -Walking to the till - Checking up on the price - Four euros fifty - It had better be nice - So I took this sandwich - Stripped the wrapping with haste - And I sunk my teeth with a grin - To ascertain the taste - But no grin came to me - I was stunned, in a daze - That cow of a girl - Had but in mayonnaise - That poison nay filth - hat passes for spread!I swear to you my dearI wished I was dead.For then I would not haveThat sickly slime on my tongueThe anger it burned,The pain it stung.Thinking back to the serverWho had composed this swill,With no effort put in,Just time to kill“The centra,” I said to myself: “Had no pride nor placePerhaps next timeI’ll try the deli in mace.