Smudges of mustard and mayo
in the bottoms of grubby jars,
blood-stained shelves,
elderly milk, uncovered meatloaf,
fish that should have been cooked last week.
What used to be a cucumber in the drawer under a bag of
what might once have been parsnips.

Another:  tidy Tupperwear, taut plastic wrap,
each quarter cup of creamed corn or cottage cheese
ready for a casserole,
eggs and butter in their labeled boxes,
crispers of lettuce and celery
crisp and current,
all the labels facing.

More intimate than underwear,
your refrigerator’s contents
reveal who you are.
Underwear tells only your taste
in fabric, whether you are sexy
or sensible, extravagant or cheap,
but your fridge tells all.

Look here:  stuff that isn’t even food:
camera film, caulking compound–
a fur hat.  Frog bones.  Bait?
Or here:  one bottle of milk,
two cartons half-full of take-out,
a quarter of a pizza with extra cheese.


~a post-Thanksgiving meditation


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