Thursday, January 2, 2014

897 - Elegy For A Re-Used Roaster

 In rounded corners did juice you contain
And set there to foment, reduce in stew
The flavours of holiday meats cook'd through
In thy scorched metal embrace entwined.
Ageless I consider'd thee: a true find.
Thine values unto me forever proved
Thine construction to be so ever true;
Yet punctured alloy allow'd sauce to drain.
Now irrep'rable thou'rt useless to me,
As I see scorch'd gravy 'pon mine ov'n floor,
A reeking black puddle that must be cleaned,
Such was not there when I used you before.
Five years I kept you for roasting turkey,
Now you live 'neath the recycling bin door.