After yesterday's blog on 'Inspired by' Jo von Bargen came back with a very apt comment - 'There should never be a reason to have writer's block! If all you can do is stare at your hands, write about hands!!'
I couldn't agree more and in fact I would go further and say that introducing a commonplace artefact and describing it can be a way into adding depth to your characters.
Anyway back to the toast.
The above is not the actual slice of toast that is guilty for the poem below but it is a close replica. The poem began life in my imagination while I was taking a walk yesterday (Thursday) morning. The style and tone suited my mood and so, as I often have said, is an emotional response and indicative of the good frame of mind I was in at the time.
I hope you enjoy and possibly can identify with the work.
The Electric Toaster
A most unimpressive piece of kit
it’s supposed to tan your slice a bit,
to change the appearance of the bread,
well that was what the instructions said
I took my slice out early this morning
the pall of smoke gave me warning.
On one side burnt to black as night
the other tan to starkest white.
I remember the time when flickering flame,
a fork, and Mum calling my name.
“Don’t get too close, you’ll burn your hand.”
Before health and safety was in command.
Now high viz vest, helmet, gauntlet and goggles,
for breakfast bread – the mind boggles!
A doorstop of perfection, soft and crunchy
topped with cholesterol and blood pressure butter – munchy.
How I miss flickering heat on my face,
tingling fingers making me change my place.
Turning the bread when one side was done,
spreading melted butter into toasted bun.
Ah but now the die is cast
such luxury is a thing of the past.
Fast food irrespective of colour or taste
and now colossal mountains of waste.
The warmth and comfort of a piece of toast
cooked in coal flames I loved the most.
Only fond memories now remain
of a time I’d gladly live through again.
©David L Atkinson February 2013