Lindamichellebaron's World of Rhythm and Rhyme

There's a museum in the kitchen,
least that's what my dad says.
Located near the stove,
‘cross the sink,
five steps from the counter
due east of the back door.

Big and white
it sits on the spot
where many have dined
standing up.
A smeary door,
a blast of cold air,
it's where he says
Mom stores
ancient artifacts
of meals eaten
long long ago.

Crack open the door,
(if you dare)
Who knows what will roll out.
Peer in carefully.
see for yourself and count
the treasures: a can of tuna
(in oil) balanced on stacks of bowls
with
one
pea
here
and
one
whiskery
carrot
there.

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