Fall and spring particularly inspire the dilettantish poet in me. To pay tribute to the season of birth, death and rebirth and in honor of my daughter, Rachel, who is the reigning World Champion Easter Egg Hunter, I present the following shape poem that I appropriately entitled “Egg”.
to none, except
perhaps the chicken
(and even that’s debatable)
it is nature’s perfect food. Fried,
coddled, scrambled or poached atop
toast, bagel or McMuffin, I urge you
to breakfast today. Lest I have it on my
face, I’ll remind you of omelette, quiche,
frittata, custard and souffle.Try them hard-
boiled or soft, dropped, shirred or deviled.
Taste them raw in a smoothie or nog. And
to prevent them from being kept in only
one basket, I’ll be a good one and
mention egg roll, chocolate
egg and, of course,