There's a place so dark and damp
where, for weeks, no one did tramp.
Without light and always cold,
it's a place that's known for mold.
I did fear to look inside
at what must be putrefied.
Leaves of lettuce, slimy yuck,
dark green bread would be my luck!
There'd be oranges, shriveled, hard,
in the fruit bin boulevard;
and the stuff that once was meat
now'd resemble brown concrete.
Hold my breath and open wide;
take a look and shallow pride.
What's the fuzzy, yellow pile?
Mashed potatoes looking vile!
There's an odor I detect
that does reek of sheer neglect.
It's the rotting tuna fish
on a little, plastic dish.
There's a price to pay for fun,
and I face what must be done.
Love of travel must be how
I forgot the "frig"...'til now!
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Submission Name: Lurking Behind the Door
