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.