The Girl Who Listened to the Toaster – Tim Frank

January 29, 2026

The girl sang
With trashcan angels 
As the shower
Scarred her skin.
So, she bathed
In dungarees and boots—
Scrolled for rescue pets, 
And the soul 
Of William Blake.

Everyday,
The toaster bitched
About cellists from the East,
And hopeless schoolgirl crushes
Who stomped upon her chest.
The girl peeled rotten peaches,
Hurled them at the wall,
Then tumbled to her knees—
One more martyr in the field.

As she hanged herself at dawn
Dressed like Marcel Proust,
The city raped the sky
Then hid 
Behind the sea.

When she gasped her final breaths,
The flat throbbed with dirty sighs,
Blinking like a fox.
It was a killer 
On the stand,
Slandering its mother,
Slipping off its shoes.