Letter to My Toaster
You are broken and I cannot fix you
Your coils were worn cold by all our silent mornings
and I know it's my fault
burnt out and lifeless you sit
next to a pile of unpaid bills
in a small unrenovated kitchen
creating a shrine of my inadequacy
I'm sorry I ignored your cries for help
and cursed at you for burning those pop tarts
and I'm sorry I never tended to your crumb tray
I'm sorry for every time I was impatient
and cheated on you with the microwave
I'm sorry I never trusted you
and always popped up the toast too soon
only to slam it back down again
without regard to your delicacy
I'm sorry that I objectified you
I know you are more than the sum of your parts
I know you are more than
3 minutes of misuse in the morning
I know that you were once the future
someone's gift to humanity
I know hundreds of years of scientific achievement
reside inside your gleaming obsolescence
I know you are significant
but I can't fix you
and I can't keep you
