I look inside my lunch box,
and, oh, what do I see?
A peanut butter sandwich
staring glumly back at me.

I know I had one yesterday,
and, yes, the day before.
In fact, that's all I've eaten
for at least a month or more.

I'm sure tomorrow afternoon
the outlook's just as bleak.
I'll bet I'm having peanut butter
every day this week.

I'm getting sick of peanut butter
sandwiches for lunch.
Why can't I have baloney
or potato chips to munch?

I wish I had lasagna
or a piece of pumpkin pie.
Another day of peanut butter
might just make me cry.

But still this awful sandwich
is in every lunch I take.
You see, it is the only thing
that I know how to make.

--Kenn Nesbitt

This poem appears in the book
When the Teacher Isn't Looking