Life of the Celery

Life Of The Celery

He walked over slowly, picking me up
I was hanging out in the produce aisle
Running his hands over me, turning me over
Feeling a warmth travel up my stalk

He felt me for my firmness
Checking me for my age
I knew I was the youngest and freshest
Of the bunch

He took me and my friends home with him
We were placed in a funny looking box
It was cold and dark
Sometimes a light would come on

Yet the hand always reached passed me
How I longed to feel that warmth again
I was losing my youth and freshness
Once again left sitting in the cold dark box

It seemed like I sat there for so long
Then the light once more came on
I felt the warmth of his hand
His fingers encircling my stalk

I heard him speak for the first time
"Who wants celery in their salad?"

Written for a club challenge as something in a fridge.

By: Cynthia Graver
May 13, 2009