Scott T Hutchison

            Eating Food After the Sell-By Date

You draw a parched line at that old milk carton
haunting the fridge’s back corner, but otherwise
you’re game: knife-saw the blue smudge away
from the cheddar; though if it’s blue cheese,
simply go for the mold, taste the ripeness
of blue veins from caverns deep in the earth.
The chilly concept always proves
dangerously familiar. Three-weeks have gone by
on the strawberry yogurt date-stamp, but you believe
in probiotic magnification, you give credence
to the treatable hives and safety of preservatives.
Go ahead, fish out and dispose of that grey blob
islanded in the center of the spaghetti sauce jar;
heat, and stir over a quick-boiled serving of pasta
one more time. Chicken leftovers--a meal
from maybe the Monday before last Tuesday?
Because you actively play against the opening
of the door light and whatever aromas might
rumble out--having placed a box
of baking soda inside—all smells blend
in the refrigerator cold, nothing ripe enough
to announce itself as suspect. You find
a stringy cavity to dig, then toss away the bone.
You pour the rankled milk down the mouth
of the disposal, you persevere and recycle
all the containers in their proper sort
for dump dispersal. You’ve been alone
how many months now? Gustatory risks
mean nothing to you when you’re washing
one dish, one spoon, one fork,
and one keen, serrated knife blade
while standing bent before the sink
that doubles as your dinner table. But
the drain strains with odd odor—old
pieces of mushroom and something else,
and something else again--a melting,
a decay, the stubborn refusal
to fully withdraw.

Scott T. Hutchison is the author of Reining In (BlackBird Press) and Moonshine Narratives (Main Street Rag Publishing). New work is forthcoming in Atlanta Review, Kestrel, Sport Literate, The Thieving Magpie, and Tampa Review.