Late, late last night there was a fight
in my refrigerator.
Of all the food fights I have known,
I’ve never known one greater.
It started when a lemon fruit,
a sour one – a meanie –
climbed up into the middle drawer
and called a hot dog “weenie”.
The lemon stalked the celery
and then it punched the juices.
That’s when the hot dog took a stand
to stop that fruit’s abuses.
The hot dog tossed a salad bowl
to stop the lemon’s raving.
About that time, the other foods
began their misbehaving.
The cream cheese smeared the bagels, then
pounced piles of pancakes flatter.
The heavy cream whipped margarine
for calling butter “fatter”.
The ice cream in the freezer gave
the popsicles a licking.
A picked-on plate of rotten grapes
gave shish kebabs a sticking.
Some sauerkraut began to shout,
“The beets will just be wasted!”
And while that’s true, no food should know
that it will go un-tasted.
Some peas were given blackened eyes
by rancid of rank tomatoes.
And meanwhile mister lemon made
a mash of the potatoes.
The rude foods with crude attitudes
made all my kitchen grimy.
The walls were splotched – the ceiling blotched –
the floors were soiled and slimy.
I learned a lesson late last night,
and few I’ve learned a greater…
I should remove the rotten foods
from my refrigerator.