by Scott Redmond

Sometimes a man just has to sit back and eat grated cheese from the bag,
And watch the world crumble around him.

He wanted to put that cheese on toast, but the way things have gone
And the way things are going,
He didn’t trust the world to still be around when the toaster popped.
Oh, foolish boy, that toaster is the one certainty in your life,
As prized possession, life partner, friend, ally in the war against hunger and cold bread,
The toaster is the one thing holding this world together.
Set to an easy five, just enough so that the toast is toast, but not so much as you’d find it in a fireplace,
The toaster is as reliable as the rise and fall of the sun, the rise and fall of man, and your first car.
The toaster is a source of warmth and comfort in an otherwise bleak, soulless world.
It would never judge you, not like Debbie.
If it didn’t laugh at you during your croissant phase, then it wouldn’t laugh at your bellybutton ring.
Toaster is good.

When life gets you down, the toaster will pop you back up,
When life gives you onions, toaster will not know how to respond but will still make you toast.
You do not need the rest,
No microwave, no job, no oven, no woman, no grill, no friend.
Could ever love you as much as toaster. You are toaster’s prized possession as much as he is yours.
His cold, metallic surfaces reflect you back to yourself, and you have never seen your face on his side without a smile.

I hold you in my arms, flatmates come and go but toaster would never leave me,
I do not know why your previous owners abandoned you, but I shall never
Take you back to the second-hand shop, so long as you promise never to burn my hand again.

Put down the grated cheese.

As the world burns around you,
You know that your toast is not burning with it.

IMAGE: “Flying Toast” by Ron Magnes. Prints available at

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: It was exactly as you would imagine, I was rushing to class (philosophy student, hell yeah) and was really hungry but didn’t have time to make toast (my only available foods being bread and cheese), so instead ate some mature grated cheddar straight from the bag. Sadly, the act of writing this poem then made me late for class anyway. My toast abstinence was all for naught.


At 19, Scott Redmond is one of the younger writers and performers on the Scottish poetry scene. His work has appeared in a number of publications, including High Flight and I am not a Silent Poet, in his first year. He is also an acclaimed stand-up comedian and award-winning playwright and director. He does not understand why it is not spelt “playwrite.”