Food (Day 3)

Ode to an egg

Cradle the egg in your hand,
Just because you are Man
doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate
the egg did not mate
or the little embryo lying inside
That would shiver, slide and glide
in it’s little home.

So tap it, once, twice, thrice
against the kitchen table.
Be gentle, little chef
the little soul that once was, left
to fade into the universe, somewhere
In-between; beyond you and me
Mixing with the salt, peppers and tomatoes
—It’s little soul dancing on your nose—

The chicken-that-could-be sizzles on your pan
till it solidifies, turns white
You lick it with your teeth
perhaps even with a little ground beef
And because of it,
you will live well today, sleep well tonight
The baby chicken in your tummy; the soul who might’ve


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