Leftovers by Jerry Durick

Leftovers

Now, we’re only two, so we misjudge
things, too many, too much; families
grow smaller, but recipes lag a step or
two behind, never adjust; refrigerators 
fill, various sizes of plastic containers,
sandwich bags, freezer bags, original
jars we can close, pretend they reseal,
line up, get stacked one meal on another,
crowding till they squeeze space, demand
command our attention; what were we
thinking, saving things we would never use 
and, after a while, we can’t even recall,
odd smelling moldy green things, things that
liquefied over time, grew white hair as they
aged surrounded by other anonymous things,
surrounded by the cold reality – we make too
much, haven’t learned our lesson, to divide,
to measure anew, revise the count, to plan
better around quiet meals, our limited needs
now, now that we’re only two and should know 
by now what leftovers are all about.