Monday, November 27, 2006

My Fridge, written when my parents were living here

My fridge is now an alien, a stranger unto me:
Abrim with food and nutrients, no longer clean and free.
Time is lost each morning dispensing gold from dross,
Finding which is mine and which guests and gross --
They've filled a fridge with protein that once was passing clean;
If I am lucky this evening it may be as a dream --
My fridge dull and pedestrian, no stranger unto me.

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