Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Sonnet #92

We have such faith in microwaves that

nothing bad slips through the screen
That we must trust to bind the things that
we cannot smell or taste or see, lean
the hand over the handle, tap the toe
We trust the ones that made the machine
Not to fail and sip out whiffs and glow
of microwavity to pollute the kitchen
We don't even know their names, the makers
The ones who walk the lines and test
The ones who write the standards
The ones who doublecheck. Faith in the best
of man, faith in honesty and happy works
Faith the popcorn package swells to burst

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