always full of bees.
like cross-sections of a hive.
Stupid me for opening the fridge in the first place.
What did I expect, groceries?
What did I expect, something in return?
I wish the refrigerator opened me sometimes.
It's a two-way street, y'know,
and somebody's gotta let all the bees out.
There are loaves of them,
swarming the half-empty honey bear.
And there’s a chicken in the freezer
that I overhear talking to the produce.
I think it's in love with the jelly.
I think it dreams of defrosting.
I used to look at the refrigerator and wonder why
a small light never went on in my throat
when I opened my mouth.
Someone should replace the bulb, I would think.
Someone should replace me, I would think.
There are still days when my head feels like
a freezer with a shrink wrapped chicken inside,
legs held together with twist ties,
bemoaning things like preparation
and expiration dates.