There’s a single egg in the fridge
Sitting alone and forlorn
Abandoned by the rest of its dozen
The only occupant
Of that strange frame in the door
It’s a quandary just how to proceed
Since it’s not enough on its own
It really needs a companion
To make up a proper omelette
Or to be scrambled with butter
If there were some bread
I could summon some soldiers of toast
And have it soft-boiled
Before knocking its head off
And dunking them in headfirst
Or swiftly poached in hot water
Swirling in a vortex of bubbles and steam
Maybe gently baked in a ramekin
In a bain-marie in the oven
Or hard-boiled for a small sandwich
There’s a single egg in the fridge
It probably thinks it’s escaped
Because I’m feeling sorry for it
But it’s very much mistaken
I can see it’s going to get fried
Since here is a packet of bacon
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment