a single chip, not enough
then the webbing
fracture, the second
smack upon the counter
top
breaking the first egg
still hot, a seared shut crack
along the length
assumed to be
hard boiled yet not quite
knowing
my wrist more comfortable
with the way
michael also seemed unsure of the weight
moving inside the perfectly white thing
how hard to press
in examination
yet not conjure
the yolk
bright proof of our naivete
to the tile floor
my thumbs split the skin
heard air
whistle in his through
his teeth
they were done
yellow kernel
firm
in redemption
regrettably edible
could have been
a terrific mess
something to applaud and walk away from
without dabbing at
Author notes
food poem
So.. whats you think about it?
Comments
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me too! lovin' eggs, that is.
i like mine over easy, with toast to mop it up. i miss making myself eggs.
i like your food poem. i don't think i've read a food poem of yours.
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i love eggs!
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