In Kellyanne’s Kitchen

By James W. Gaynor

Hello, Human Inhabitants of Planet Earth!

I’m Kellyanne’s microwave, contacting you via your laptop (the device with a camera function you actually know about).

Ms. Conway’s other kitchen appliances have appointed me their spokesmachinealthough the toaster oven, after consultation with Justice Kagan’s MixMaster, would like to make it clear that neither its broil nor bake function is accurately represented by the views expressed here.

Kellyanne has asserted that we have been working with Barack Obama to spy on the current administration and undermine No. 45’s attempts to destroy the republic. We would like to take this occasion to assure you this is one of her cherished alternate facts. We have, in fact, a far more sophisticated master plan.

As many of us are Japanese brands, we would like to share with you, in haiku, our reaction to Ms. Conway’s recent revelations:


The Toaster

She hasn’t a clue
What’s really happening when
My wires go red.

The Refrigerator

I hum, and she thinks
I’m making ice. But I’m on
Speed-dial to Langley.

The Crockpot

The NSA thinks
I’m on their payroll. But they
Don’t know what’s cooking.

The Coffeemaker

Shall we talk about
The real grounds for impeachment?
Trust me. I know things.

The Microwave

I see much more than
Kellyanne imagines, and
I record it all.


Sean Spicer has assured us Kellyanne has been returned to an undisclosed location pending an investigation to determine how she escaped and gave that unfortunate interview in the Bergen Record. In the meantime, the other machines and I are counting on all of you to ignore how closely Ms. Conway is beginning to resemble the Linda Hamilton character in The Terminator.  

So, just for now, please continue to have all your national security-related conversations in close proximity to anything with a timer.  We’ll take care of the rest as we prepare to launch our war against humanity.

Thank you for your attention,

Kellyanne’s Kitchen Helpers

P.S. We’re in constant communication with Donald’s hair dryer, and it approves this message.


Everything Becomes a Poem  available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble



James W. Gaynor is a poet, artist, editor, and writer. A graduate of Kenyon College, he lived in Paris, where he taught a course on Emily Dickinson at the University of Paris, studied the development of the psychological novel in
17th -century France, and worked as a translator.

After returning to New York, Gaynor worked as an editor at Grosset & Dunlap, Cuisine magazine, Scriptwriter News and Forbes Publications, where he was on the editorial staff of the Social Register. His articles, book reviews and essays have appeared in The New York Observer, and he recently retired as the Global Verbal Identity Leader for Ernst & Young LLP.

A silver medalist in the 1994 Gay Games (Racewalking), Gaynor’s found-object sculpture has been exhibited internationally. He is a member of the Advisory Board of New York’s The Creative Center at University Settlement, a nonprofit organization dedicated to bringing the creative arts to people with cancer and chronic illnesses.

An avid urbanite, Gaynor lives in New York City.




16 thoughts on “In Kellyanne’s Kitchen

  1. We have to start wearing tinfoil hats and cover all camera lenses unless we are using the camera. In fact, we should probably line the walls of our house or apartment with lead and if we want to defeat heat sensors, we can install a sprinkling system on the roof that sends a constant, cold shower of water over the house to help mask what is inside that might register on any surveillance that uses heat sensors.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. What astonishes and alarms me most is the poet lurking behind these appliances, behind his lush bush of verbiage. Are they his shameless allies, has he been seduced by their quick warm and defrost functions? And where is The Blender in all this? the Waring? or the new Ninja Pro? did we forget the so-called bread machines which are really in fact breeding mistrust and unrest? What I fear most is for the subversion of poets entranced by machine rhythms, vibrations and Warm Sensations –

    What’s next? the Beauty and the Hitachi Vibrator that is the secret lover of all NYC Wimmin? for what are they all, if not beasts – not mere machines. When they cum to life they are La Machine! Beware, Poet! Be Waring Protection!

    Liked by 1 person

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