How do you like your fried egg?
Sunny side up
Or runny?

Do you like to burst the yoke open
With a neat piece of toast,
Tearing the membrane
That shields
the yellow river
That floods
its banks
And runs onto
The ceramic
of your plate?

And what about pepper?
Crunchy
Or fine?
Spraying particles
Into your nostrils,
Bringing tears
to your eyes
And an uncontrollable sneeze,
While your mouth
Shoots its fine salival contents
To be caught
By the palm
of your hand.

Or are you a ketchup freak?
Large dollops of red
Playfully splodged
Before smothering it in bread
And biting through the layers
Of comfort
and familiarity.

Or are you,
like me,
a fan
of crispy?
Brown
Singed
Lightly at the edges?
No sunny side up
Or potentially leaking rivers
Just a precarious
process of turning
too early
For fear of burning
Before the bonds
have developed
As I’m left scraping
The stranded pieces
From total obliteration
Adding salt to the wounded parties
And wondering
Whether
To walk away
Silently
As cold creeps in
And the impossibility of resolution
Overtakes the air.

Or take mouthfuls
In a risky spoon
And see
Where it takes me.


---Jib, 9.10pm, 02 Feb 03