Burnt Toast

The damn toaster's on the blink again:
bitter smoke stains the kitchen ceiling black.
One day it'll burn down the house
and then you'll be sorry. Penny-pinching old bastard,
I went to school in the same clothes three years running.
I scrape black crumbs and choke on the stink.
Bitter smoke stings my eyes. I'm on the blink.
Pretty soon I'll burn the house down.
Then you'll be sorry.

--for Big Tent's predicament prompt. Or maybe the escape prompt. Possibly part of a series of poems using the sense of smell.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside