Today, I wrote a poem.
A Sonnet In Which A Microwave Is Once Again Personafied.
Perched alone above the clothes washer, you
Saw the future on that deadly plate
Indeed, for on silver wings it flew.
And you, powerless to avert your fate.
Your station must have seemed especially cruel,
When you were a victim of your peculiar use.
Forced into suicide, an abused tool
Of a reckless master without excuse.
I do not doubt your last thoughts were of me,
And of the injustice of your untimely end.
Did that sudden power bring glee?
Did you hope at least in death you could contend?
For I know it was not by random chance
That you set fire to my favorite pants.
Perched alone above the clothes washer, you
Saw the future on that deadly plate
Indeed, for on silver wings it flew.
And you, powerless to avert your fate.
Your station must have seemed especially cruel,
When you were a victim of your peculiar use.
Forced into suicide, an abused tool
Of a reckless master without excuse.
I do not doubt your last thoughts were of me,
And of the injustice of your untimely end.
Did that sudden power bring glee?
Did you hope at least in death you could contend?
For I know it was not by random chance
That you set fire to my favorite pants.