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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 08:20:00 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 668
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => the fridge
[time] => 2002-07-18 12:54:12
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The Fridge.
In the summer silence, far from town, in a village settled firmly by a slope, where crocked streets are uneven, mules clanking hooves and cartwheels creak are a memory, I listen to the kitchen’s fridge song. Naturally it’s about true love and that she’ll never leave me and since it’s a mechanical voice I had to make up the words that are a mixture of western ballads, the lonely cowboy on his horse riding into the sunset. When I open its door and drink milk straight from the carton its voice gets shrill tells me to use a glass, complains that its white surface is full of my finger marks; slam the door shut, look out of the window…empty street. Turn back to the fridge open its door drink milk, as a sullen protest, the way I want to, clean its surface though till it looks like a snow princess’ bosom, then I make up new words for a beautiful song. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 7 [informant] => Jan_Oskar_Hansen [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry )
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