Poem: The Tupperware Box

The tupperware box that you put pasta in
Will never be transparent again
It will always be a little bit orange now
That’s just how life is now, my friend

The white vinegar that you put on your shirt
Will not work — neither will lemon juice
There’s nothing to learn, you’re not Anthea Turner
Give up. There is simply no use.

Bicarbonate of soda does nothing.
Why am I making a weird potion
Of wet, white powder that never helps me?
Just pour it all into the ocean

Getting the duvet into a clean duvet cover?
Not to moan, but I would sooner die
Oh you have a technique? OK then, you freak!
My method? To sit here and cry

There’s a jar of passata in the cupboard
I can’t open it, and maybe, never will
Now it serves as a physical manifestation
Of my failures, of goals unfulfilled

I’ve run out of tin foil, so now what’s the point?
Back to Tesco Metro petrol station
To buy some more tin foil and forget something else
’Til I die in this endless rotation

Yes, I also forgot washing-up liquid.
Because it’s too boring a thing to remember
I did buy more mango chutney though
I’ve had the last jar since September

Yes, it’s still in the fridge, why wouldn’t it be?
I need all of my half-empty jars
Maybe I have separation anxiety
Old jam heals my emotional scars

Let’s just say it. Life is too hard.
It’s too full of tasks and more stuff.
Every day I wake up, more things have occurred.
Make it stop. Enough is enough.

I don’t want to do the washing up again
The strainer’s full of cold rice and hair
I’m simply going to hide under my desk
Eating lunch from my stained tupperware.