Whenever you get hungry, think of how
Tme’s a’wasting! Hear the microwave?
Its little jingle tells us what we know,
Its “beep-beep” signals progress to the grave.
The older way of cooking calms our breath,
And serves to keep our panic more in line.
No keyed-in seconds, “ding-dings” for our death,
Our hearts slow down and seem to stretch the time.
We choose our speed of going, don’t you think?
By moving fast, we try to get in more.
Like squeezing life to yield the kitchen sink,
We mike it, watch it whirl, stomp the floor.
Fellow mortals, do you get my drift?
We feed our fear, and never mind the rift.
This was my first sonnet, written about 2006.
Posted Thanksgiving 2011