A pomelo sits, 

Cold, forgotten

Alone in the recesses

Of a dark fridge

Bought on a whim

Forgotten with an exotic cheese

Left to slowly over ripen 

Never considered otherwise

Its sour juices

Shall pique no taste buds

Nor will its pulp

Gather on a glass rim

Light flashes and doors open

Darkened after closure



It’s only consultation

The lousy company

And shared fate

Of a drole cheese wedge.

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