Ode To My Refrigerator

I've grown quite fond of the old gal in my house. She lights up when I look for a snack, more welcoming than a spouse in a midnight tryst. She never gives me flack. I value my fridge more than a vault, but sometimes I open it and I'm repelled by the scent of something fuzzy and green. "That stinky odor is my fault," I cursed with words that were obscene. The stench is worse than anything I've smelled. Half a roasted chicken carcass, wrapped in foil has been in there for days. Kept for making stock after it would boil, but it's long past that phase. Not sure but I think this is deli meat inside a bottom drawer. No, thanks. Think I'll pass. It's too slimy to eat. I see a container with shriveled peas and something crystalized in a jar. I've lost my appetite... aw, geeze! I know there's cheese in here somewhere. Ugh. It's gotten moldy. Now, I'll have onion soup without gruyere. Can't blame my refrigerator. She's a golden oldie. She does a great job of chillin' and winks at me, day and night, but forgotten things start growing penicillin. There's some, but it's just a smidge. Glad I saw it before I took a bite... Thanks to the beam of light inside my fridge. February 23, 2023 Write an Ode Poetry Contest Sponsored by Jeff Kyser