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The office fridge is full of slime,
No-one has cleaned it in our time,
The shelves a feast of green and grey –
And what’s that lurking in the tray?
Chorus:
So raise the putrid morsel high
To throw it out, or eat and
die?
Though gourmets flinch and
drinkers sneer,
We’ll use our fridge for
more than beer.
A squelchy bag of nameless gunk,
A hardened roll falls with a clunk.
A long-lost lunch, its fate is plain,
Let mankind’s loss be compost’s gain.
Chorus
There is milk but no-one’s keen –
Fluorescent pink and lurid green.
A blackened lump, right up the back,
Provides a salmonella snack.
Chorus
The ice amid the freezer’s ooze
Is broken glass that once held booze.
A reaching hand, one finger less
The final colour in the mess.
Chorus
Copyright © D.W. Walker, 1999