issue 31 > poetry > blossom
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Best if Sold By
by Laurel Blossom
My daughter's cleaning out the fridge:
suspect food a month, week, year or more
out-of-date. She doesn't ask
permission. She's here with her sensitive nose
in the air to help me, laid up
by hip replacement surgery, first
dread sign of decrepitude, decay,
tables turning, date of expiration.