I organized my solar system,
Milk on the top shelf,
Little bottles below
Organized by spiciness.
It was a clean solar system.
Then came life.
Someone moved my orange juice. 
Hidden from me lying sideways
on the lowest shelf
Means I lost my moon.
The rotation of the planets
Fruit and Vegetable
became skewed, bizarre.
The old slipped quietly away,
Rotting and needing more 
Than my old heart could give.
Fruit, covered, moonless now
and all alone in the world.
The clean shelves, blocked by 
Drips and drabs of unpleasantness.
I will reorganize my solar system.
I always do. I must live where I am planted.