I AM THE LEFTOVERS

that sit in the fridge until they go bad, and you not only throw them away. You are afraid to

touch them

smell them

look at them

You run them outside and slam the lid closed as fast as your arms and physics allow. Then you walk away. Back to your

nonstinking

kitchen. Where I no longer reside. You have been rid of me.

I am gone.

Rotting away.

But at some point you wanted me.

At some point your mouth watered at the thought of me, and your insides growled. At some time.

I was all you wanted.

But you allowed me to rot before making me a part of

you.

©C. O’Connor, 2016