Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

How I Peel

How I Peel

Before morning could warm the dull,
in its amber flight over the roof,
out a guarded window
memory of a boiled egg
you carefully peeled with that deft hand,

unlike my breakfast this morning.

Flesh not easily preserved,
its oval face had two eyes (perfectly placed),
sinkhole mouth that exclaimed shock,
yellow brain poking out.
Hard yoke, frozen expression, knowing my mission,

as the shaker lightly shook,
salted filmy, open wounds from a savage.
Front row view to
unhinged, toothy craw, before black,
when it went to a greedy gulp.

Not perfection, like yours.
I wonder now how you savored,
if life tasted better in your hands,
a true craftsman and devourer of eggs?

I went Dahmer on mine
and was about to move on...
No, you give me pause to think,
even now as I look out this window again,
happy for a brief visit.

I'll aim (next time)
to undress the brittle armor,
thumbnail placed just so to peel that skin back,
each breakfast,
when morning light hasn't hit me right.


6.24.24
30 lines, free verse vignette

In part, using 'egg' as prompt for a fiction forum, found an unedited poem to cull this from and opportunity for another remembrance of a lost one staring back up at me from that white carnage plated.
I had a Danish with coffee today. Seldom boil an egg anymore.

formerly titled: Murdered Another Breakfast Memory
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TYPING w/o eyes
You have to admit, that alone is impressive.

Forthcoming: a YouTube vid of me sinking 50 (no look!) three-point shots inside an hour at gym without a rebounder (camera placement will be tricky. I sank 40 Friday afternoon in a din, up to eight balls at my rim careening. Nothing deters my focus, gets in my head. NOTHING. Stares blindly into middle space.)

I want to find the biggest player in the gym today and be the wall he can’t drive through, or stop, as I’ll plow his skidding high tops across the hardwood.  I need a videographer. Rage Against The Machine, a taut chain link loops through my head’s gears for days now. ‘Ahhhh, helll, yeah! Can’t stop me now!!’

Anyone want to camp with us in August in a large cabin in North Wisconsin woods? Can’t find dates right off. Can have writer’s retreat at scenic Camp Un-ah-Li-Ya, owned by YMCA. All costs my treat. Hot shower in cabin, outside too, with room for 20 people to pile on in. Just three of us, maybe four, so far. Fingers crossed a former poet laureate and mentor will R.S.V.P.