Hungry Mook

My eggshell cracked on the edge of the pan

after being handed from the car door

to the floor that seemed to be retreating

and rapidly receding, only to

appear again, only closer this time.

Where I expected sizzle I had rain

that pooled in the recesses made for grease.

There I proposed a treatise to myself:

never settle for breakfast when promised

a safe ride from the drop-off point to home;

at least not before the bacon arrives.

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bishu's picture

Liked your write Mr Sivius

Liked your write Mr Sivius.At the start I could smell the fried eggs..... I'll wait for bacon.10 yrs on post poems ..Wow !!!! Made me think of a dinner out at a friend's place and leaving after breakfast.Images float easily into minds eye.