Two Over Medium

The other day I woke up hungry. Here’s the short version of what happened.

**********

early mornings occur everywhere.
people do a lot of the same things.
like cook eggs.
the world’s frying pans
bubble with hot butter.

two eggs on standby,
today’s sacrifices,
waiting
to be offered
in the fires of affliction,
to the gods of hunger.

the cook chooses two, cracks the shells.
their protection fractures.
they tumble
down.
splat,
their essence spreads.

they have no choice.
they hit the heat,
first one, then the other,
then,
a strange thing happens.

they hook-up at the edges,
cling together,
like married couples,
companions in the fire,
infused in the sizzling skillet.

for a while they simmer together.
the chef cuts the heat,
studies the slight dilemma
of flipping them,
one at a time.

they must part paths,
go it on their own.
the cook’s spatula
performs the simple surgery.
once together, now their own egg,
for better or worse.
they took no vows.
they had no say.

time is short
for the life of eggs.
little time to waste
for creating memories.

like life itself.
ever joining,
ever separating.

in the
Final
Analysis,
like it or not,
we all
sleep
alone.



Bud Hearn
September 23, 2016