There are hot pockets twirling in my belly,
Hip, hop, hop, spin, hop.
My stainless steel surface is a reflection,
Of all who walk by, and of all that is in this kitchen room.
I stand still, glass plate turning inside,
Popcorn poppin, poppity pop.
And in your mouth they go.
Prepared and heated for you tasting pleasure.
With the push of a button,
I defrost,
Warm up,
Cook,
and boil.
With a push of a button,
My front door shoves itself open,
Steamy air glides out,
And I can feel the presence of your eager hand,
As it reaches for the edible content.
You're hungry, I can tell
Because you don't seem to care how hot the plate it,
You grin and gesture and yet hold on to the burning glass,
Slam! You have slammed my door once again,
Not caring that the grease on your hands
Is now on the stainless reflection, distorting your face.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I can hear you munching.
Your food is showing and it's disgusting.