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Ode to My Microwave

Poor microwave,
you are broke.

I did not think much
of this
until I was shopping

I never realised how
you influenced my purchases;
Oh, I talk not of the frozen
dinners that are in boxes that
appear to be predominately

I talk of the fact that I could
make a meal that would keep
for a few days;
that could be divided up, frozen
and reused on those nights when
I returned at nine at night from

(Who, I ask you, can be fucked
cooking at nine at night?)

I talk of the way this saved me money
the way this made me eat slightly better
than I deserved
and the way it supported my laziness
in the best possible fashion:
cheaply, healthily, and emotionally.

Well, perhaps not emotionally.
But if I sung a little song about your door
that sprung out,
the noises you made when you were ready
the way you could be ready in minutes or
an hour,
would you be pleased, like an old British poet
claiming the seasons are sexual

And the pump that is frozen
becomes slippery
beneath her hands (or his)

Unless you had that T-shirt,
I suppose.

I'll be honest:
I didn't really know where I was going,

But I do miss the microwave.



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Feb. 10th, 2009 03:07 am (UTC)
neat poem.

Here are some horrible food images for you:
Feb. 10th, 2009 03:17 am (UTC)
hmm. turducken
Feb. 10th, 2009 03:18 am (UTC)
WRONG WRONG WRONG!!! People don't really eat that shit do they???
Feb. 10th, 2009 03:22 am (UTC)
you've been to america, you tell me ;p

(i'd heard about turducken bfore, but i've never had it)
Feb. 10th, 2009 03:23 am (UTC)
they have deep fried Mars Bars in Bondi but I've never tried one
Feb. 10th, 2009 03:24 am (UTC)
oh, yeah, thats right. never had one myself,
Feb. 10th, 2009 07:14 am (UTC)
RIP, little nuke.
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