I forgot my lunch in the refrigerator.
The little that was left of the pasta you made for dinner,
with oil and tomatoes, cubes of mozzarella – it’s sitting
atop the bag of deli-meat (the turkey you feed your cats).
I didn’t mean to forget my lunch in the refrigerator
as I rushed out the door this morning. I didn’t mean to say “Shit”
as my alarm went off. I was dreaming.
In my dream, people were waiting
for me in the parking lot – perhaps to steal my lunch.
When the alarm sounded all I could think was “Shit”
I have to pass these people on the way to my car.
I was half-awake as I took the elevator.
Half-awake as I pressed L for lobby.
When I walked outside no one was waiting for me.
My lunch was safe, except that I forgot it in the refrigerator.
I swear I didn’t mean to.
Dan Leicht, a writer from Rochester NY, often writes poetry as well as fiction, which can be found on his author site. His poetry has previously been published with Canto Magazine and Work Literary Magazine.