I never felt a fear quite like
when flipping pans of eggs
with perfect grace
and fluid poise
I flick the wrist
and raise the arm
and know they'll land
in perfect form
unbroken yolk
to simmer warm
yet as they fly
some panic joins
and carries through
the narrow arc
where topsy turvy
eggs now rise
and twist onto
their fragile heads
my world with it
my face of dread
for one mere second
I know I have control
but do I?