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miyako73
04-13-2012, 10:31 PM
The beginning—
the cracking and breaking
of the shell,
soft, white, calcium,
its fragile bone
destined for fork
and its yolk, for beating
from the deep bowl
of herbs, salt, and pepper
into the hot pan
of butter, oil, or margarine.

The middle—
wet albumen, shiny and running;
the sides, the curves,
dry, cooked, and done;
the edible surfaces,
smooth, golden, and yellow.

The end—
French omelette.

Delta40
04-13-2012, 11:19 PM
Delicious! I imagined the yolk as the heart of the story but nevertheless, your poem stirred my appetite in more ways than one - now I know what to have for lunch!

David Strugnell
04-14-2012, 05:25 AM
French omelette?