A poem about dinner.

An icebox theory:
I was taking all the ice cube trays out of the freezer and climbing inside.
My hope was to remain frozen till a cure was found for the human condition.
So I bundled up in my winter parka and climbed my way in.
Took a seat on a bag of frozen peas and waited around.

While waiting I went through the pockets of my coat. I hadn’t worn it in years. (There isn’t need for such a coat here in the East Bay).

I found a note from her written years back and it read:
“Goodness gracious it’s alright”.

And I agreed and climbed back out of the freezer and returned the ice cube trays to their proper place. As well as the frozen peas.

“What’s for dinner?”
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