In the century most recently expired,
pigments to suggest certain fruits and vegetables
were infused into the metal of appliances,
plastic tableware, canisters
for sugar and flour, even the weave
in carpet fibers. These were part
of a concurrent affronts to taste
including deleted expletives of Presidents,
the Fonz scowling at a juke box, gas
lines, fear of toilet paper shortages.

Then that ancient ‘fridge began leaking
coolants. You could have bought new seals,
a refill of freon, but there was a virgin
Master Card for such crises. The clearance
floor model was the only one
that could be delivered that day. So, you take it
when the salesman said that everything
from then on would be white or brushed
stainless. See how close you came
to missing sandalwood altogether?

Chris Dungey is a retired auto worker in Mich. He rides a mountain bike and a Honda scooter for the planet; follows Detroit City FC and Flint City Bucks FC with religious fervor. More than 170 of his poems have been published online or in print. Most recently in Hood of Bone Review, Dipity Lit Mag, Cyprus Review, Bramble Online, and The River (Sandy River Review), and Bulb Culture. Forthcoming in Poetry Lighthouse.