Office Microwave

It began stainless.
Buttons clicked.
Darren’s lasagne gave a low hum.
Steam, not hope. Cheese, not teamwork.

Then the intern.
Lid tight. Confidence tighter.
Orange cloud.
Silence.
No one wiped.

By winter, a relic.
Rice stitched to the walls.
A pea republic took the corner.
Broccoli phantoms clocked in at noon.
Someone reheated fish. “Meal prep.”

Management fought back.
Laminated orders.
“Cover your food.”
Again: “Cover your food.”
A pen-scratch on the door:
“Egg curry? Seek help.”

Entropy punched in.
The lemon blackened.
The vinegar quit.

Still, we fed it.
It breathed despair and chicken satay.
Each lunch a reminder:
nobody’s job, everybody’s fault.

Now it hums on.
A warm mirror.
We stand there, hungry, guilty.
Decay isn’t random.
It’s democratic.

F.S.F