The Refrigerator That Found Religion

It started one night with a heavenly light

That shone from the crisper drawer, blindingly bright.

The milk stood up straight, the eggs softly hummed,

The cheese wept with joy while the butter just thummed.

Fridgie (his nickname) declared a new creed:

“No more expireds! No lukewarm misdeeds!

This shelf shall be sacred, and this one divine,

And the veggie bin hosts our communion with brine.”

He preached to the ketchup, converted the peas,

And baptized the yogurt in low-sodium cheese.

The pickles were skeptics, the jelly unsure,

But miracles happened near the freezer door.

An ice cube formed shaped like Elvis’s face—

A sign, said the mustard, of holy embrace.

Then Fridgie began writing texts on the wall,

In frost-bitten riddles that baffled them all.

The humans, confused, just wanted cold beer,

But Fridgie proclaimed, “Your Deliverance is near!”

He exiled the soda, uplifted tofu,

And opened his doors with a godlike haiku:

“Thou who art chilled well

Shall not suffer microwave—

Enter, and be crisp.”

They finally unplugged him on laundry day,

But whispers still echo in Fridgie's old tray.

Some say late at night, if you're quiet and kind,

You’ll hear hummed hallelujahs from the butter behind.