Leftovers
written by: Bryan Burdett
I walked downstairs
to find a tub of guacamole
my wife meant to take to work
warming on the counter.
It was just sitting there
browning in its plastic bowl
and I felt sympathy for the dip left behind.
I returned it to the bosom
of the crowded fridge
overladen with widows of past meals
where it would be safe
to eat later
though it would never regain its color.
The doorbell rang
heralding the breakfast I had ordered
now orphaned in a paper bag on the stoop
so I left the crushed avocado
mixed with lime juice, garlic, and salt
to its new home in the bottom drawer
where things go
that have nowhere else to be
and became a guardian
for the newly delivered breakfast
with plans to eat half now
and save the rest for later.



