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this one is not a blog, but a poem. i hope you will enjoy it anyhow:

 

the fridge is warm,

and i asked you to fix it months ago

when the eggs went bad

and the lettuce turned to soup in the drawer

 

you told me you'd fix it,

before another gallon of milk turned sour

 

you told me you'd call the repairman i found,

before the gouda turned green

 

you told me you'd do research about buying a replacement,

but i am done watching my groceries turn rancid in the kitchen

while i put my time and money into making food for two

 

you can keep your tepid freezer and the ice trays full of slush,

but i cannot go on knowing you can't even do enough

to get your own refrigerator into shape to function

 

so when you go down in the night

to find a snack to sate your hunger,

you will find the floor unswept

and the sink filled up with dishes

 

i'm done working for the both of us

and hoping you will grow

 

you can keep the moldy sourdough

 

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