No, there isn't a toaster capable of engraving the melancholy visage in charred carbohydrates on part of a well-balanced breakfast (actually, the Japanese have this technology). The Poe Toaster is a man who comes bearing French Cognac to toast the grave of Edgar Allan Poe on his birthday every year for the last 60 years. Every year except last year, on his 201st birthday. No one is sure why he didn't come, unless this is the end of the Poe Toaster. No one knows for sure who the Poe Toaster is as multiple people claim that it's them. This mysterious man (likely, men) is rarely photographed. It's a stirring tribute, but is it a match for the guy who etches Poe into used cars, or the Irishman72 who toasts the vandal?
As I wandered through South Pitty
Listless, same as half the city,
Suddenly I saw this shitty
Focus that I'd owned before.
Left I looked and then to starboard,
No one near, just trash and cardboard.
Never knew that I had harbored
Long-lived hatred for this Ford.
Fury, hatred, rage galore.
Gas I'd none, nor e'en a hammer.
Nothing left but Lit and grammar.
I might end up in the slammer
If I whacked it like I's Thor.
Armed with what my life had left me
Silently and oh-so-deftly,
Hand and key engraved my message,
Gouged into the frickin' door.
Take that, finance-hawking whore!
I wandered onward, sans rancor.