Fridge Ballad

Lucy wafts white,

cold and milky.

Her breasts *huddled penguins*

migrate toward the fridge as

warm pockets tightly knit

a scrapped symphony

“Superb…”

her underpants agree

(…wafting breath…)

The fridge reveals its lonely inmates:

A brilliant cast of Chekhovian characters,

bleakly painted.

False hope?

It’s just a meat prison.

(…whispers behind her hair…)

“Whose plate is this?”