And All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace - Niall Bourke

The open fridge is beeping, but not beeping
like an open fridge, it is beeping more like a foul
mouthed reversing truck being interviewed
before the watershed, it is beeping like a cyborg
having a fit under an airport scanner and impromptu
starts the microwave, so desperate to answer
the question oh, oh, I know, pick me, pick me,
but before I can answer, that square kid with the dirty
glass face chimes in, too hot or too cold or too something,
and when then the dishwasher pipes up with its falsetto,
(it would have to be a falsetto) the swinging fridge door
is now leading a symphony, a symphony that has been written
by your foot after your sock has fallen down below your heel
while walking back to work to get your keys,
a symphony being played by enthusiastic but very angular
people who have only ever seen the concept of music
after it has been shone through a prism by a Picasso painting
and so when the tumble dryer completes the quintet
and their crescendo breaks over me like all my cancelled bank cards
I know, oh I know for certain that we indeed are so lucky
to all be watched over by machines of such deep and loving grace.

Retirado daqui.