ode to an EGG
A fried egg means many things to me
A boiled egg does not entice me quite as much
An omelette with some onion and some cheese
Speaks love made with a 'masters touch'
The fried egg is full of grease and sleaze
And it never comes alone
Though it arrives in a white holy frock
It won't leave your arteries alone
It arrives in the morning on a piece of toast
A bit like a prayer, but without the 'holy ghost'
In the evening it sits heavy on a plate of chips and peas
And though it means well
It clogs your pipes sends them all to hell!
The Egg is in short quite diffident at times
Hiding behind two slices of bread
At other times it shines sublime
As 'eggs benedicte it is quite refined'
Taken with 'high tea' and people in high places
Sometimes it breaks down
Scrambles in dispair leaving by the back entrance unaware
After 'recovery' it returns watery poached and bare
Slipping away without a care
' Give us this day our daily egg '
Was once our prayer
Then the media denouced too much of it a 'health scare'
And so it fell into remission
Not just because of bad emissions
Though of late this serves as a warning
Between bad gas and global warming
So the egg has fallen out of favour
Fallen out of lunch boxes
That stunk a coach for hours
Rotted in the back of fridges
Splat on politicans wishes
overpowered the scent of flowers
And though the love affair is over
After days and months and hours
Of gross excess
I must confess
The fried EGG still tastes the best!
myrtle egg white aka
yvette smith
I
poem by Yvette Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
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