In four homemade hummus lines
I can tell a half bowl of you 
about leftover Friday rice.
In at five, the rather wrinkled mushrooms
tell their brown paper, we're from Zoe.
In four lines broccoli,
	I, a courgette, can three carrots tell,
	  tell vacuum-packed beetroot
	about yellowing curly kale on the lower shelf.
In a well-ripened four, mango lines,
	four in four egg lines
        can tomato concentrate.
I, a broached tell should
a carton of soya milk, you, pour
another four lines in coconut water.

I, an unopened packet of supermarket,
tell coffee opened 
you – Italian, Arabica blend –
about two purple bands elastic.

I as bands hold can and
tell the packet, you, as braces
spanning in the green design,
tightly I sealed can in.

In its elongated you-tupperware
about shelf top, left
in four far lines I can tell
in you days without lines 
and lines without tell
with leftovers about lines uneaten

--

An undertaking that combines 'fridge contents with the thought noodle -
"In four lines
I can tell you 
about..."

--

If you enjoyed the above and are curious about my other poems, preview my first volume SHINING IN BRIGHTNESS. 
I tweet regularly about food, coffee and the influences I find in suburban life. Follow me as @BeadedQuill.
Beaded Quill is also on Facebook. Find BQ here.
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