Last night I fell into a restless sleep,
soon after I’d been clearing out my fridge,
sorting what to throw away and what to keep.
I started dreaming I was walking o’er a bridge.

The path I trod soon led me to a street,
whose pavements were all packed and thronged with folk.
I was only wearing slippers on my feet.
The people stared and laughed as if that was a joke.

I saw a row of shops all in a line.
I ran toward them, tripping o’er my slippers.
And there, on a shop window, was a sign
which said, we will buy your date-expired kippers.

And as the grip of sleep began to soften,
I resolved to clear my fridge out much more often.