Microwaves

these are my noodles in a
two-quart casserole dish,
glass, as dictated by
cardboard below

it is unthinkable, the
texture,
i know what happens to you
when, after i’ve done you the
first time,
you get soft upon reheating
if this is round one, god forbid we
give it another shot

as time advances, regresses
in lcd, backlit calculator screens
green, i remember how much light
they’d make, stacked objects high,
idle standby after late night,
subwoofer on, battery phone, tv screen
now bedroom glow keeps me up,
circles dots lines and words
you whisper, it
goes off

it’s cooked, this dish
not good food, but eat it
forget what natural burners do
ignore composition
when i listen close i hear you hum
fast, as dictated by
heaven below