So, this week marks the year anniversary of the fridge poem. I wish I cared about this more, but ummm…I kinda don’t. I love my fridge poetry and all but yeah. This was supposed to prove I’m awesome, and though it did, this economy is abusive and only made this a humble act of the corporate jester, nothing more. So, without further ado, here is my weekly literary piece for the office (By the way, did you hear my post about dirty dishes being hidden under the sink in a box?! Gross…and lazy! Sheesh! ):
An Ode to the Fridge Poem (And the crazy girl who writes them)
Happy Birthday, Fridge Poem,
This week a year ago,
a normal memorandum,
became more random, apropos.
With enchanting powers of words and rhyme,
emails whimsically came clean,
about people’s food, neglected, in time,
vanishing at five fifteen.
The receptionist would write it,
a reminder that ignited,
a forever-burning literary flame.
A once boring chore became,
a weekly source of joy and laughter.
All hail the fridge poem and its maker,
henceforth and hereafter!