back o' the fridge

after all the cookin’ you would think someone would clean the soap o’ the dish and four day old fish are turnin’ brown and green the pot is in the fryin’ pan the kettle’s in the sink and not a morsel left to eat but plenty near to drink so you down a pint of lager and you chase it with a shot and you comb the cupboard high and low to see what else you’ve got but the drawers are like a desert and the table’s a ravine and you can’t recall a time when all the cabinets were so clean but somethin’ else is lurkin’ somethin’ else is near somethin’ else was edible when last you saw it here alas that somethin’s starin’ at ye openinin’ up the door whatever it is in the back o’ the fridge it ain’t what it was no more. so you look around the kitchen but you know there’s nothing there you haven’t shopped for nearly a month and all the shelves are bare so you open up the Frigidaire and the odor makes you gag all wrapped up in aluminum foil you warily touch the bag beside the fifth of absolute behind the case of beer somethin’ else was edible when last you saw it here. alas that somethin’s starin’ at ye openinin’ up the door whatever it is in the back o’ the fridge it ain’t what it was no more.