There are times when you want
to squeeze the world in an egg cup.
Wouldn’t that be perfect?
You move aside the salt and pepper
and prepare to drain the
It’s not so big.
The sky is grand but the clouds
rein in the sun, shell over yolk.
You can roll the world in your hands,
all color coordinated continents
and chocolate dipped mountains.
You want it to be smooth,
but it crumbles.
You want it to be round,
but it slides across the table:
The world jiggles, pops, sizzles,
burns, grooves, tingles, aches, longs,
but more beautiful this way.
Eggs are better scrambled anyway.
* published in the League of American Poet’s A Treasury of American Poetry II (2005)