December gravitates towards the refrigerator. Swivel-head
bottle of water relieves the reddened gardener. Chilled are the Christmas
chocolates that melted into gargoyles. Cold beer cheers lunchtimes of tuna
sandwiches and tomato salad. The fridge door stands open with blessing. There’s
nothing to do in the heat. Cats are barometers. Outside, ants may have taken
over the world. Has anyone checked? Cool things, we brought them down from the
jungle of supermarkets. Our credit cards last a lifetime. Now we mill delighted
at the refrigerator, the sweat of our brow cooling in ice-air. We incline
toward siesta on a couch somewhere.
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