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.