Losing Your Cool

Cinema Verite: Losing Your Cool

I would have a camera in the fridge
and a hand reaching in.
It would be at night
and the only light
would come from the fridge
thus illuminating the searching hand
and the pallid face behind.
A voice would inform
'The programme's starting'
then the hand would disappear
leaving the door ajar.
The fridge would shudder
and its insides turn to tears.

I would cut to the oven
with a chicken browning in red heat
and a woman prodding it.
She would say
'It's ready. Will you mash the potatoes?'
He, 'So we're talking!
Have you forgiven my error with the fridge?'
'Accidents happen,' she would say.
And melt into his arms.

Poem copyright Bernard Young