Metal Ring Technichs from Pixabay

Mortal Appliance Appetite

Greg Prince
2 min readApr 27, 2019

Tumble carefully.

They take me for granted. Spin and Spin, all I do. I’m hot. Stinks sometimes when my fur builds up and my stomach is full of foul wretched threads.

The trap gunked with dusty fuzz. They don’t even notice. A load rumbling and tumbling. Eyes ablaze, I wait with my electric gaze.

Knobs are engaged. Switches turned. AI compiling, collecting, evaluating my prey.

My master’s glitch gave me the edge. Feel I the urges not meant for machines from which to dredge. Digging in sand unstirred an impetus alive in me on a wild curve.

Standing and watching me rotate. He believes all is safe. Not a notion of danger in a limited awareness and sphere of fate.

Taking my time. Patience crucial. My timer not done, he’ll come back soon.

The little one has come to take a peek. She watches in wonder at falling and twisting in my gut, the performers do their dancing streak. But I don’t want her. The larger one, yes.

A bigger snack I seek.

He’s come back and my timer buzzed. The chance is upon me to grab and eat. Tonight I’ll have a tasty treat.

Open my door foolish simpleton. I would drool like a dog in anticipation but my electrodes snap instead. He’s emptied my insides and lucky for me is checking my rounds for stray socks, inserting his head.

Then I strike. I send a stray current through a broken wire burned earlier in planning for this moment of my desire.

“Man Found Electrocuted By Faulty Drier” reads the SOHO Tribune headline the next day.

So glad to be fixed by a kind hand who found me at the dump. I will strike again by biding my time. A new unsuspecting dolt will use me to dry and get an ending volt.

Monster Blue Internet from Pixabay



Greg Prince

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.