Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2010
What makes it
that perfect egg,
laying there simply,
narrow-turned nose
to broad-bend
bottom
?

What is it
about
this teardrop of smooth,
its quickening
shell, not easily cracked
or taking
to a coating dye —
the slippery
dips in mocking pink,
acid-tongued blue,
and an indigestible
pea green
?

I can't begin
to unlock that knowing,
and I'm not going
to swallow it
hardboiled
.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Francis Scudellari
Written by
Francis Scudellari
973
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems