A Hot Breakfast

They, whoever they are,
say you should eat a good
hot breakfast
I don’t think they had this in mind
the day I made the toaster scream

A rare choice for breakfast for me
frosted chocolate pop tarts
now that is unusual,
I don’t know where they came from
but that was my choice
for a breakfast on the run

A strange sound came from the kitchen
it was the smoke detector
but more than that
the toaster was crying
a death cry

Flames shot into the air
lapping the base of the light blue
of the cupboards above the counter
bubbling and curling
about to catch fire
a hot cord
a quick yank
white fire extinguisher powder
all over the room

But it is the cry of the toaster
shrieking in pain
and the crisp ember
black remains
of the yummy sugar filled
and sugar encrusted
confection I remember
I swore off them,
just to be sure.

July 19, 2006 18:40 All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 18,770+ of my poems at http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.