The Cupboard of Death

The capers in the cupboard decompose.

Congealing jalepenos germinate.

The gherkin’s great, green girth no longer grows,

But shrinks: each wrinkled pickle must deflate.

Decaying in the dark since ’93,

The furry, flaccid, festering fungi,

And green, obscene gelatinous curry,

Black jam jars buzzing with a fuzz of flies.

Foul fluid in the tins begins to clot,

And bruises bloom beneath sweet, seeping skin,

Soft tissues suppurate and slowly rot:

What once was plump, collapses from within.

Disposing of old cans, I know my fate:

To thus expire upon my use by date.

◄ Someone Else's Sorrow

How To Be Better ►


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Harry O'Neill

Tue 2nd Apr 2013 14:28

I love the way your alliteration seems
to make the the supperation and the rot even
more yacky.

An effective and arresting `remember where you
are going` poem.

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John Coopey

Mon 1st Apr 2013 23:24

I do have my own take on this which Bob Dylan scurrilously poached from me!

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John Coopey

Mon 1st Apr 2013 23:22

Happily this is not a fate which affects we men!

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Yvonne Brunton

Mon 1st Apr 2013 18:55

Have you been peeking in my cupboard?
And blow this maturing lark - I'm going to immature!

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Charlie Preston

Mon 1st Apr 2013 17:07

Thank you ladies! Here's to ageing like Stilton. I aim to be blue, stinky and incredibly delicious.

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Mon 1st Apr 2013 17:04

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love this !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Freda Davis

Mon 1st Apr 2013 16:54

Hi Charlie, this is so true, although on your last point I think a few of us last well beyond our use by date. We bought some well aged Stilton the other day and in spite of information about how many years it had been aged, it still said "use within three days of opening". I hope I will be a Stilton and keep maturing well.

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