Microwave Face

I stood there, waiting for the water to boil.

Staring into the black glass of the microwave door.

A quick, gray flash,

a face.

Not mine, not really.

Too sharp in the jaw,

too tired in the eyes.

A stranger.

Then the steam came,

blooming white,

and it was gone.

Just a dirty window.

And the water, finally,

started to scream.