lillian the home poet

. . . eggs!
Hens lay them, people abscond with them.
Shelled with white and yellow insides,
eggcellent when fully cooked.

Who among you drinks raw eggs?
Holiday eggnog is not for me.
Bourbon or rum added to nog?
Never enough for me to imbibe!

Runny yolks pool on your plate,
drip from your fork,
require slurping to consume.
That is definitely not for me!

Give me on-the-dry-side scrambled,
well done frittatas, firm omlettes,
or a good solid hard boiled egg.
What can I say?

I’ve always been
a firm handshake kind of gal.

NAPOWRIMO day 5!

The prompt today, for National Poetry Writing Month, is “to write a poem in which you talk about disliking something – particulary something utterly innocuous, like clover. Be over the top! Be a bit silly and overdramatic.”

I thought it appropriate to write about eggs today since that silly Easter bunny has presumably been hopping around leaving Easter eggs for so many folks.

Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay