Crack!
Into the black, shimmering pan
Given life by gas
The father fries feverishly

The white cooks first
Pleasing, pure
From a distance
If only we could live so dangerously
The golden hue is what he seeks
The safety of the coveted yolk

The man waits and works
Anxiously, in the grease
His creation beaten, toughened
Chasing gold
Until the white is no more
The pan is encrusted, no longer shimmering
His work is done

He calls to his child,
"Look what I have created for you! Someday I will teach you!"
His son looks on disinterested
He's too young to understand

Yet, the boy is ravenous
He will one day learn this ritual
For now he engulfs his father's work
He gnashes, nearly choking
Eventually it trickles down
Around his throat, and soon around his son's
Where the yolk was always meant to be

...Crack