The Egg
My three minute egg in boiling water,
Seventeen for hard-boiled, according to Julia,
Or fried in bacon grease for the trip to eternity
Two jaundiced eyes on my father's chipped plate,
Or butter for scrambled then cover 'em with catsup;
No resemblance here to the Faberge eggs
Covered with diamonds, rubies and pearls
For the pleasure of the Russian royal family.
Copyright © Charlotte Zuzak | Year Posted 2005
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment