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
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