Mechanical Drag

The power flickered once and then it died,

leaving the oven’s face a hollow black.

I feel the room expand, too deep and wide,

with no green glow to hold the shadows back.

Only the plastic circle on the wall

remains to carry on the heavy chore.

I listen to its gear-teeth slip and stall,

a rhythmic grinding near the number four.

That thin red needle stutters in its track,

fighting the gravity of grease and dust.

It wants to move but something holds it back,

a tiny, frantic heartbeat made of rust.