The Appliance Coroner
Author: Bill Roberts
You really can’t know the meaning
of deprivation these days until
your microwave burns out, as ours did,
in the middle of reheating the morning coffee,
a practice with pseudo-religious significance.
It suddenly flashed an ominous blue light,
then spluttered, smoked and sighed,
too early in the cycle to ruminate
over its untimely death with
a second cup of Monsoon Malabar Gold.
Only a teenager, thirteen, same age as
our once-new house, and a top-of-the-line GE,
appliances are not what they used to be,
says my wife, who knows about appliances
except, that is, how to fix them.
The repair man, otherwise known as
The Appliance Coroner and well known to us
lately since everything seems to have
a lifespan of thirteen more or less years,
prays for the dead then renders his bill.
Sixty-nine dollars, the same as last month
when he administered last rites to a clothes drier.
A new microwave will cost six hundred bucks,
installation of new and removal of old included,
plus a promise that we’ll see him again soon.
(Published in the 2/26/09 online issue of 0f Sunken Lines Magazine)
Note: Not surprisingly, this poetic piece was the result of too many of our appliances suddenly stiffening up and dying after living with us in our “new” house for thirteen years. We have one of the early blenders, inherited from a sister in law fifty years ago, that still works! Hence, “they don’t make ‘em like they used to.” Hell, in this country they don’t even make ‘em any more.
