The FAB&PP Poem of the Month for April 1996
the microwave
makes
this busy white noise
that has a
pitch
to it, or a tone,
maybe, more like
a key, inside it
it goes with
Tchaikovsky and
other peoples'
poetry. it's loud
and old.
a folly
long accepted.
too big for what
it
does. and the
light goes out
almost all the time,
weak socket,
bad
bulb.
but the magnetron
inside does all the
real work
and still
works
[still]
now
i wait for it to
die (before i do) so
i can get
another
one
that just
hums in the
background. less
white noise. more
music. save the poetry for
later