original poem about a toaster

Who the fuck put this toaster here?

During an age when most people strove for sex, profit, and glory,
There lived a different young man, who sought a new story.

He feared not that his name might someday be forgotten,
His passion burned so bright, you’d think he was besotten.

The man’s goal was as such, ‘twas not commonplace,
He would send a small toaster into outer space.

Like sunglasses in a coal mine, or sprinkles on a turd,
A toaster in vacuum is utterly absurd.

If, out on a spacewalk, your survival depended on toasted bread...
There’s nowhere to plug in the toaster, so you’d end up quite dead.

Perhaps, inside a spaceship, a toaster might make sense,
But the man wanted purity in this needless expense.

So he became the director of a great space administration
Solely to gain access to a suitable station.

When his subordinates made sure his proposal was clear
They asked, “Why the fuck is there a toaster on here?”

He wouldn’t explain, this detail seemed rather clandestine,
They couldn’t tell if he was brilliant or asinine.

Years later, what they found nearly drove them amuck,
They stared at the toaster, and exclaimed, “What the fuck?”

As he lay on his deathbed, the man finally cracked.
He said, “everyone’s trying to be something, it’s all just an act...

It’s hard to ignore, and I feel it too, the need for a struggle, an infinite fight.
We must cherish that which is foolish, lest we lose our souls to this plight.”

With that he sighed gravely, as he let out his last breath,
And viscerally shat his pants before departing with Death.

Centuries later, humans thought themselves the height of intelligence,
With their warp drives, immortality, and pan-galactic governments.

But one day they’d find a little something quite amiss,
They’d squint at their old archives and wonder, “What the fuck is this?”

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Writing is my therapy.
This piece did its job for me when I finished writing it.
I have nothing to lose by sharing, but maybe it'll make someone smile.