Who Owns Whom Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

My shiny new refrigerator
has been stressing
changes in house rules.

Like a new live-in.

I remember similar reproach
from a new Porsche.

Apparently there will be
no more food put on the
shelves to spoil, nor open beer
bottles left
in the door- also, any spills
or overflows
shall be mopped up ASAP.

Cheese it would rather not
deal with at all-
and everything stored
should be covered or bagged.

I do not smell leather
on it's breath, like
the Porsche,
just that new plastic odor
in vogue with things
that come with
stainless doors.

The fridge says: It's a matter
of respect and dignity,

but I'm sure it expects
the preacher
to drop by thirsty
and look in there
for Holy Water.