My Fridge
My fridge has a life of it's own
It's own
Why don't I have a life of my own?
I, plug it in, [that is the fridge]
And still it has a life of it's own
As it whines and sings
It's broken sonatas
So 'postmodern' for a fridge!
I, on the other hand only moan
Sometimes I think it is haunted
Possessed by the ghost of a fridge long dead
Do fridges have souls? , they are too cold
Full of white glossed metal
How can a fridge really feel?
This is getting surreal
But at night all alone
I hear it weeping
Could it be speaking
In 'fridge morse code? '
Filling in the gaps
Between sleeping
And waking
Wondering if life is there for the taking
What it would be like to have a life of my own
yvette m smith great poetess of the uk
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poem by Yvette Smith
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