I act brave sometimes
But I’m not
And I think I’m being microwaved
Boiling from the inside out
I shake inside
And on occasion on the outside too
I act brave sometimes,
But I have an image to uphold,
So I don’t let them see me cry,
When will the electrons explode?
Cover me up
I’m splattering about
As molecules of cellophane and plastic plate mix with cheesy mire of microwaveable dinner, I make excuse in my mind and apologize to my already over-compromised liver. It's simpler this way, or at least excusable for this moment. 56 dead in Garland, Texas, I think I can be thankful a tornado has not turned my world upside down, whilst biting down on tv dinner rations. Still I think, can 2015 end any faster? These last few days counting down and the microwave's digital display bleeping, sludge discriminating who shall be taken. It's all so guarded and circumspect. Please, if there be an element of good, may the new year know it.
Used to muse
On the use
Of oversized microwave ovens
In the covens
Give them their due
They know how to imbue
Broomsticks with fresh belladonna!
Our love is like a microwave
We nonchalantly recognize its presence And we happily utilize it everyday
Yet we rarely sit and ogle upon the magic it contrives.
The beguiling beauty of the zappy microwave.
milk in glass
watching clocks that don’t move fast
Microwave myself away
past the unsettling thoughts
into the very daunting forefront.
May I never sing like an angel again
For you, and no one else that cares
for more than a drink and a meaningful stare.
Microwaves are better in the daytime
where there is noise to block the beeping
and sound to mask the hum.
No one is awake but me
as the frozen Indian food heats up
at a time too late for dinner.
I pass the minutes,
watching the blinking countdown,
thinking of all the chances you had to kiss me.