A Neglected Pantry
Leave my body alone, worms.
I did not exercise enough to render myself
succulent, wild game.
I did not drop fresh where you found me.
Youíve found me in my preservative packaging.
I did not eat the right food to be ready for you.
In fact you are dropping in unexpectedly
and nothing was prepared
in case of a surprise party.
My recipe isnít finished, but
maybe if you let the microbiota into the box,
they can work wonders as sauciers
turning me into loamy stews.
What I did not provide for in taste
I can make up for with a serviceable spread
of those forgettable bachelor dinners
that connect our heads to our tails without
a trace of forethought or apres-moi.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Terry
Trowbridge would be pleased to hear them.