#microwave
life is like microwave food—you cook until you get roasted and then it's done.
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 12:56 PM UTC
Like King David in the bible, as I grow older, bones grow colder, seeking added warmth where, how, ever, mechanical, humanoid
Start my day, with a Canadian mug, illustrated with Vincent Van Gogh's Almond Blossoms, brim 19 .oz filled of Caribbean islands blended beans an elixir biblical that soul restoreth, and yet fresh from the *** yet requires 1:30 seconds of maximum additional heating
and I drink it down in minutes few
and go back for another
I know I'm droning on, many of you have escaped looking for pithy
abbreviated angsty desperation that
tumbles out of troubled chests
well you have to just keep on wailing
what no mas?
nope
but u can always hope
sorry this poem joke is in you...
but feel free to microwave me
back
Jun 7, 2025
Jun 7, 2025 at 9:09 AM UTC
he's getting old now, but still young enough
to buy self-help books he’ll read
only to stay on the treadmill
next to the other suburbanauts.
uses a fortune cookie slip as a bookmark
that just says run.
he's getting old now, but still young enough
to think he "found" someone—
someone as boring as he is,
and they swore to her readymade god
"to have and to hold" each other's
credit card debt and tangled mess of neuroses
‘til death of one kind or another comes.
he’s getting old now, but still young enough
to pretend it’s not happening.
cleans the gutters. trims the lawn.
drags his boat to the river every summer
to drink beer and lie in the heat—
like the sun will burn the years off.
he’s getting old now, but still young enough
to break down in the grocery store,
somewhere between the potato chips
and the popcorn,
crying onto the linoleum,
wiping his nose on his sleeve—
a quiet little implosion
under fluorescent lights.
he’s getting old now, but still young enough
to think he’s missing something.
like a dog still searching for the ball
that was never thrown.
like a flickering motel sign that just says
no vacan, no vacan, no vacan
he’s getting old now, but still young enough
to feel like a frozen dinner in the microwave—
burnt to hell on the outside,
ice-cold in the middle.
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 9:19 AM UTC
The time would be 3:00, had it not been hidden behind the countdown
10
9
8
The wavering vrrrrrrrrrrrrr of the microwave is not enough to wake
The naive parental mind, causing the ideal image to break
7
6
5
The ping
Of the microwave waits
4
Torn between warmth and fear
3
2
It is this moment when the panic sets in,
lunges
for the door
and
stabs
the miniature metallic square
The pop of door
The stench of soggy noodles
And so she is safe
Until another 3:00
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 1:17 PM UTC
roses are red
my name is not dave
this makes no sence
microwave
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 2:39 PM UTC
Underneath the surface,
the earth is the microwave.
We are the engine, we are the heat wave.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
I'll look at a kid girl across the bar
and will fall in love with her -
what's that
in her eyes
*******
what's that? -
at that moment
there is a new order in the printer
and I have to make a drink
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 9:06 PM UTC
So
I hate
HATE
washing dishes. But I don't
discriminate (pots and
pans and spoons and measuring
cups are also on my *****
list)
So
when I bake
in a microwave,
in one bowl,
with one mixing fork,
and no measuring tools,
it's sort of kind
of a bit of
a miracle
when the baked thing rises
AND it
tastes
ok
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 2:11 AM UTC
Out of the womb into the microwave.
Brain cells pop,
Electric shock.
We all worship,
In the house of metal.
Devil in the computer,
Screams like a kettle.
She sings through the holes in my head,
She likes me better when I’m half dead.
Fading in and out like a ghost,
Possessing me when she needs me the most.
Metal temptress.
No one sings like you.
Metal temptress.
No one can dress like you.
I hear your whispers through the radio.
I see your image on the video.
Pavements of heaven grow colder against your moonlight.
Your lies rung through my head,
I still see the truth in what you said.
No one lies like you,
No one believes you like I do.
Dec 25, 2019
Dec 25, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
Let the babble stop
Let the brain farts cease
Let pleasure be your guide
And the poet slip into their persona,
Like a performance uniform,
A slip dress
An existential throw up of thoughts like
Bad Chinese food.
The kind that climbs out of Tupperware,
slippers ready
Of Tupperware and ready slippers
***** out takeaway rice.
Performance uniforms sit up in bed,
Babbling about existential poets.
The bad Chinese food
Waltzes with its guide,
Brain dribbles out of nostrils.
Dear night-shoes,
This babble has ceased,
Pleasurely.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
I was eating a cookie
But it was too hard
...
So I put it in
The microwave
For a minute
...
...
And guess what?
It worked!
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
Out of the womb into the microwave,
transforms you into a mindless slave.
Diet soda, chips with dip and a bucket of KFC,
sit next to me.
Black holes for eyes absorbant as a sponge to the colors in view.
The colors come to collide,
To whisper a message to my mind.
A message consisting of anime girls and talking animals,
not what people would call manly,
but it is a guilty pleasure,
so spare me the commentary.
So as I was saying,
I lay unmoving,
Licking my greasy fingers like a fat ****
strapped down to my living room chair,
whilst the colours penetrated through my eye hole,
cutting deep into my soul.
******* out my mother ******* brain,
clearing reality out and washing it down the drain,
The conditioning from the wash has left me braindead,
painted a picture I don't understand but I will remember what it has said.
Phosphers,
of dreams and wonders,
grab me by the hand,
and whisp me off to wonderland.
It takes me,
Like a reaper,
out of my body,
to an obscure,
reality,
painting a picture,
fantasy.
Living in a world of simultaneous information,
Crawling inside and taking away my perception,
everyday,
a part of me is taken away.
They have,
Taken my eyes, so I can't see
Taken my ears, so I can't hear
Taken my heart, so I can't feel,
Taken my mind, so I can't think.
Out of the womb into the microwave,
transforms you into a mindless slave.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
That lonesome,
Long distance
Kind of love.
Shared through
The microwaves,
Images he will treasure
In the darkness
Of his motel room.
They will be his only
Flicker of light
For the next 5 days,
His own solitary pleasure.
He will gaze into that full
Bright handheld moon
And imagine
Floating gently into
It’s haze, losing himself
Slowly, bit by bit,
Measure by measure
While she waits
Patiently on the other
Side of the world,
Assisting,
Offering,
Pleasing
At his leisure
Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
At two AM the refrigerator deliberately beckons me
screaming all of it's offerings, like a maniac banshee
I oft succumb to its wiles and to the treasures within
bending over painfully, perusing all the lowly shelved sins
Jimmy Dean sandwiches, frozen burritos, Swanson *** pies
minutes of radiation, oblivious of cost, forever on the thighs
Using my emotions, to justify all of my consumption
can't see my knees or toes, that's a pretty safe assumption
It's not that I couldn't go for a walk in the park
I prefer it here all alone, microwaving, in the dark
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
Penelope Cruz
Used to muse
On the use
Of oversized microwave ovens
In the covens
Of Barcelona.
Give them their due
They know how to imbue
Broomsticks with fresh belladonna!
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC