I heard him

I heard him

Shouting from the balcony

Two flats over

There were no Montegue’s or Capulets anywhere

‘You put it in the microwave

And heat it for thirty minutes’

I heard the disbelief in the voice

On the phone

He was a bit deaf

And had his device on loudspeaker

‘Yeh...you know it’s like boiling in the bag…’

The fly on the arm of the chair

Looked slightly bewildered

I don’t suppose it would take much

To confuse the little thing

It seems it can find a way in

But never the way out

Flying around in circles

Willy-nilly

Until it knocks itself out on a window

The word nonplussed

Ran through my head

Right then

As I wondered what kind of food this was

Not that I cared

But I do remember my mother-in-law

Blowing up a microwave

When she wrapped an egg in tinfoil

And tried to cook it

The old guy needed a good shake

As he busied himself

Talking about his life

It almost brought me to tears

I worried about the woman listening

On the other end as he told her

‘You don’t have to worry about me you know’

I wasn’t so sure

And thought that she would

‘I can manage Doris...really’

Not Juliette then

I guessed she was old

There are not too many Doris’s left

Move over darling

Rock Hudson will

Whip Crack away

If I sat listening long enough

The Deadwood Stage would

Come around the bend

And Annie with the gun

Would shoot ‘em all up

Maybe that would shake up the old guy

Enough to forget the boil-in-the-bag

Treat it as an important exercise

In self-restraint

Stick with

Chicken dinners for one

Five minutes

From frozen

If the microwave did explode

Likely he would need a rescue detail

And I wasn’t really up for it

Not today

Sentimental Journey

Is an old song

And not a magic moment,

On the balcony

They say goodbye

The silence is very welcome

It's too late

For the fly

He’s already dead

Que Sera Sera