Egg

Egg

There’s a single egg in the fridge

Which sits alone and forlorn

Abandoned by the rest of its dozen

The only occupant

Of that strange frame in the door

I’m in a quandary on how best 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 perhaps poached gently in hot water

Swirling in a vortex of bubbles and steam

Maybe slowly baked in a ramekin

In a bain-marie in a low oven

Or hard-boiled to make a small sandwich

There’s a single egg in the fridge

Which probably thinks that it’s escaped

However I fear it’s much mistaken

Since I can see it’s going to get fried

Now that I’ve spotted the bacon

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014