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
Forgotten
Wasted
–
It’s only consultation
The lousy company
And shared fate
Of a drole cheese wedge.
