#100repchallenge, poetry
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#078: where the food is (an acrostic)

Frozen no more, but chilled to perfection

Remnants of Tuesday’s feast lay idle in tupperware

I open and close, procrastinate, open and close

Doors filled with condiments and plant milk

Glass shelves stained by loose coriander and limes

Every so often spring onions winter from a fickle thermostat.

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