A Journey To The Centre Of My Fridge
The door makes a noise as it opens
Revealing the contents within
The lamp flickering with alarm
As it tries to illuminate the interior
The shelves sparsely populated
With a range of dubious items
Covered and clumsily wrapped
Concealing the substances
Whose origin is now unknown
And the subject of fervent speculation
There’s something grey there at the back
Hiding itself from prying eyes
Crawling down from a mouldy plate
Along the wires to the edge
Attaching itself to the side
There’s a gathering odour
Emanating from that crumbled blob
Which might once have been cheese
It’s building its own dairy culture
As it slowly turns into yoghurt
And drips its way towards the bottom
And perhaps those grey flakes of something
Used to be fine fresh slices of ham
Bought to go with the salad
Which still sits in its packets
In the special crisper below
Transforming itself into liquid
In three different shades of brown
It’s a sorry sight at this time of night
When you’re desperate for something to eat
It offers no hope of satisfaction
And may be a danger to health
The only thing you can do
Is to close the door with a sigh
And turn elsewhere for comfort
Whilst making a firm resolution
To clean it all out in the morning
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment