To A Microwave

Once there was a microwave
Who served his family well.
Three long years he toiled
Forgotten, giving, serving

He showed some cracks along the way;
They patched him best they could.
But then one day, he broke.
They knew that he was done.

To fix it? Five hundred.
To buy anew? The same.
The decision was made right then:
It was time for him to go.

Now unplugged, now unlatched,
Daddy lowered him to the floor.
How grimy, greasy the underside!
How dusty the parts behind!

Removed now from his rightful place,
Carted to the outside,
The greasy, dusty hulk
Awaited his destiny, silent.

The family gazed at the vulgar hole
where once he'd been:
"Meh, we always have a stove, right?"

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