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death rattle of the new coffeemaker

July 21, 2025
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well, my mr. coffee died quietly two days ago/the on switch simply wouldn’t light up nor activate when pressed/so i being unhandy and incapable of repair slash resurrection called the time of death/and have emptied the reservoir and will give it an improper nonburial

and now I have a new coffeemaker/and have read the instructions/learning thereby that the manufacturers of this charming device/define five ounces as “one cup of coffee”/so i will get about two decent-sized cups per pot/which is ok

and I have just now followed the instructions/of first washing the pot with warm soapy water and rinsing/and next running a brew cycle without coffee/so as to clean its innards

and when i ran it/i learned that the new machine sounds like it dies an agonizing death by copd/as it yields the last fraction of an ounce of superheated water

its agony and final death-rattle sigh/worthy of shakespeare/who famously said

“Cowards die many times before their deaths;/The valiant never taste of death but once.”

may my new fellow-coward coffee machine/die a thousand histrionic deaths/before it really and truly and once and for all and irreparably/dies

app yours

December 2, 2024
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sometimes i fall into the “first one’s free, kid” online trap

and i pay nothing but i do install the app

and there goes a chunk of my disposable time

and all for more distractive irrelevance that makes as much difference in my life as does laryngitis to a mime,

and MUCH later i wake up and smell the stripped-wire fumes

and i go to System and then Apps and count the dozens of app-piranha amounting to an app-inferno that consumes and consumes and consumes,

and find the truth of my subconscious-originated rumor

is that the apps not only consume system resources but also the very being of one GWB-monogrammed consumer.

so i get out the handy-dandy System lawnmower more technically known as Uninstall,

but though i want to seek&destroy them all,

after just a few have been dispatched i start remembering a niceness about this one or a funness about that one,

and i just can’t bring myself to do in the Jokers On Parade one or oblivionize the Don’t You Just Love a Cat one,

and in a few days i again become rapturously entrapped

and, minorest of minor poets that i am, i realize that Apped has, does, and ever will rhyme with Zapped.

.

Renewed thanks to the spirit of the inventor of the style I employed for this poem, the immortal Ogden Nash.