Every object is a landscape

especially a refrigerator.  Stainless steel -- ah! the stories it can tell.  Consider, the refrigerator as an alphabet.  So tell me, what's for dinner?  Are you editing in or editing out the carrot in that petite poem?

How is the refrigerator a casebook for managing poetry?

No, not magnets. No poems on the refrigerator (although I have no problems with them).
Consider, how cleaning out the refrigerator is akin to sorting through all your poems and giving the heave-ho to those that would best serve as mulch.

Tomorrow is garbage day and there are scraps of poems aplenty for pick-up. The refrigerator is looking quite smart, too.

What advice does the refrigerator offer a poet?

Open me.
Take what you can use.
Make something fresh of the left behind.

A fine meal, a fine poem always knows
what has been taken out. What is only hinted at.

Refrigerator. What language does the refrigerator and poetry speak?

Language of left-overs.
Language of bits & pieces.
Language of surprise (both pleasant and otherwise).
Language of question.
Language of too much.
Language of too little.
Language of the ripe.
Language of the over-ripe.


Some refrigerators are covered with magnetic poetry. Some poems are vehicles for menus.