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.
Posts
