26

The fridge opens with a pneumatic
Suction. I stare for four and
A half seconds and I take out
The carton of orange juice from
Concentrate, it slides out of the
Fridge door heavily with a seasick
Motion in my hand and comes
Down on the wooden surface of
The counter and I get a glass.
The glass is full of the half-light
From the crack of the lit interior
Of the fridge seeping into the dark
Room and the white skin of the
Carton glows dully like an afterimage
And the glass has shards of that
White in it and much more dark.
The wooden slat blinds creak like the
Rigging of a great dusty ship as
I flick the sealed plastic mechanism
And the vacuumed carton drinks in
The oxidising air with a slight gasp.
I tip and lift the body of fluid in
Its card and glue until it is lapping
At the mouth and a funnel of rich
Opaque orange plunges into the glass
And juice boils upward in the flute
Of glassware until it is full and thick
With the dim light of the fridge door
And it is like the blood of some
Strange creature, all haemoglobin
And particles of yeast and swimming
With little lights that seem like fires.
It gives off a dull fluorescent glow even
Once the door of the fridge eases shut
And I am left in a quiet darkness
Thirsting only for that strange, blunt light.