Hi, All. Before I delve into this week’s fridge poem, I have to discuss the recent news about astrological signs changing. I know. I know. Since we adopted the seasonal, Westernized zodiac (rather then the Eastern one that is based on constellations and the earth’s rotation around the sun), it hasn’t really changed, but before I knew about this, I immediately did some research, to investigate my astrological self and kill an hour on a boring Friday afternoon at my desk (My poem was already written and done). I was born on April 5th, making me an Aries. I could always relate to certain aspects of the sign, but I never felt like a true Aries. Then I found out I could actually be a Pisces.

Aries are fiery, super assertive, sexually charged(to the point of promiscuity sometimes) leaders. Aries can be pretty self-centered and don’t follow others well. They are very in-your-face and energetic. On the other hand, Pisces are gentle, generous, intuitive, sensitive and understanding of others around them, and creative. They are very submissive and hate to lead. They are dreamers. Apparently, they are not very sexual. The funniest part about the description was that a Pisces would be a wonderful and happy receptionist!!!!!!!!! For real?!  Well, that part’s waaaaay off, but I feel like I can take chunks of both of these to properly describe myself! I’m not fiery, but I’m energetic. I’m sexually intimate, but I’m not some crazy sex bandit. I am intuitive and aware of people around me, very accepting of all walks of life. I like to lead, but I can follow, too. I have healthy self-esteem, but I’m not self-centered. I dream a lot. Therefore, I am not an Aries, nor am I a Pisces. Since I was raised as one and possibly born as another, I feel like I’ve become a half-breed. I guess that makes me a narwhal or a horny fish?

What's your sign, Prentice? I'm a f!@*ing narwhal!!

HORNY FISH!!!!!!!

Anyways, here is my poem this week. It is a piece about the fridge on a snow day, since we Atlantans were  snowed and iced into our homes all week (actually, I went into work three days this week…grumble.)

Watching Children on an Office Snow Day

Old Man Baking Soda Sat,
Upon his shelf veranda,
much engrossed in gazing at,
Children wrapped in coats and hats.

There stood sweet Miranda,
playing in the freezer snow,
with her sister grape, Amanda.
To him, this scene seemed propaganda.

To see young Jeremy Jello,
and Snickerdoodle Steve,
throw snowballs as they bellow,
forewarning to foodstuff fellows.

These children, so naïve,
so blissfully unaware,
soon enough will be deceived,
and forced then to bereave and grieve.

Of cheery cherries and playful pears,
the old man could not understand,
why in a fridge world so unfair,
these beings did not find despair.

Suddenly, he felt the hand,
of a tiny, cheddar child.
She held his hand and said “Old Man,”
“Why so sad? Today is grand!”

Old Man Baking Soda smiled,
as a tear slid down his cardboard cheek.
Of all the misery his mind compiled,
he forgot moments like these that leave him beguiled.

Though he lives-on week after week,
and is always left behind,
by friends and foes, by limes and leeks,
by wasted youth, and salads Greek,

The man forgot to keep in mind,
he can’t avenge them tit for tat,
but they wouldn’t want him so resigned,
in a world with wonders undefined.