BY THOMAS MHANDO
I opened the fridge at half-past ten,
Expecting food from heaven again,
And found three tomatoes and a stubborn hen.
The leftovers looked suspiciously old,
The rice had developed courage and cold,
While one small onion remained uncontrolled.
I searched the shelves with diplomatic skill,
Negotiating hunger against my will,
And found some sauce beside a pill.
I closed the door and walked away,
Then opened it again to pray,
As if new food might appear that day.
The fridge remained completely still,
A monument to household will—
And somehow blamed me for the bill.
thomas.mhando@gmail.com
