To Buy Or Not To Buy
"I'm going to buy a bread making machine:
a good one, so please don't complain!"
"But I'm the bread maker, a wonderful baker,
your money will go down the drain..."
"Well I'm buying it now off the internet.
It's my life, my choice, my money."
"Yes it is, that's fine, so i'll try not to whine,
as you said, it's your dough, my honey."
It arrived the next day, from "AMAZON.COM"
with "Made In Brazil" on the label.
A hundred and fifty bloody quid,
and without a bloody cable.
"Damn, this bread maker's minus a flex!
I honestly can't believe it!"
"Shhh! Don't panic, and stop acting manic.
It's probably lost in transit."
"Right then, I'm making a loaf by hand:
I bet it'll taste much better,
than machine made bread, hand crafted instead
Is like Roquefort compared to a Feta."
"I just knew this would happen as soon as you said
that you wanted to buy a machine."
"Oh for God's sake grow up - you're worse than a pup,
and stop being so bloody well mean!"
"That's it - go on - start swearing again,
you'll never hear me doing that!"
"Well it's about time I did - Save blowing my lid,
So shut it you silly old prat!"
So we argued 'til the loaf was done,
then I took it out to cool.
"It hasn't risen half an inch!?"
"You forgot the yeast you fool!"
"Well half a loaf is better than none,
so let's just wait and see,
when the bloody plug and lead arrive,
If it bakes bread better than me!"
When it all arrived (eventually)
she got it up and running,
which is just what i was about to do,
when she said "I've a bun in the oven..."
"One loaf at a time - Is that all it does?
How long does the bread take to bake?"
"With wholemeal flour, it's about four hours."
"That's a lifetime for goodness sake!"
We proceeded to pace the kitchen floor,
like an expectant mum and dad,
occasionally peering inside the machine,
but the mixture lay soggy and sad.
Then suddenly, a spark of life!
It started to 'whir' and to 'hum'.
then something moved inside the box,
like a bab in a mummy's tum.
It had started to form in the dark of the 'womb'
but the process was terribly slow.
It gently went round, with a heartbeat sound,
like a developing embryo.
Part of me wanted it all to fail -
to go down like a lead balloon.
How can machines make bread like a bloke?
Can a dish run away with a spoon?
We forgot all about the machine for a while,
and decided to look at the telly.
Then three hours later, a beautiful smell
brought us back to expanding our bellies.
The machine went 'ping!' - The job was done,
but the proof of the pud's in the eating.
"It won't taste good - It's the colour of mud."
"Shut up! And stop your bleating."
The machine cooled down, and so did i,
then she forced me to nibble a slice.
She set me a place, and with a lemon sucked face,
I swallowed it down in a trice.
"Right! Now Mr. Man, tell me the truth,
was the money i spent ever wasted?"
I had to come clean, said " that bloody machine
makes the best bloomin' bread ever tasted!"
© Copyright 2016 ben hardstaff. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Travel
Poem / Science Fiction
Poem / Humor
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