Death Stairs into the Fridge

Posted on 13 February 2010

There used a to be a little cupboard
Where I kept my death
It stayed there for years
Between the Maalox
And a box of stale crackers

One day
While reaching for a flannel shirt
In the bedroom closet
There he was on the top shelf
Peering down at me

It went on like that for decades
Always there
As I was dreaming
Behind the shut door
Nuzzling unworn sweaters
And smelling of mothballs

He climbed down from the shelf
And settled into the couch
Before the picture window
Staring out at the barn
Where my childhood bicycle reposes
Vines winding clockwise
Round its rusting spokes

Evenings I sit beside him
Passing popcorn and beer

But this morning
While sipping coffee
In the kitchen
There he is

Staring into the fridge
Thrumming his lip
And tapping his foot

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