(from the NaPoWriMo prompt: write a “concrete” poem – a poem in which the lines and words are organized to take a shape that reflects in some way the theme of the poem.)[I have no idea how to make this work without doing it by hand on paper, so I include the photo of the poem in its "concrete" form. Forgive my lack of artistic prowess.]
I knew how to make
an egg edible
before I met you
but I didn’t know
how to cook one.
You made me want
to know how to poach
and fry and scramble
and bake.
An egg is the beginning
and breaks without care,
will overcook as you dawdle
or philander with the toast
or fast-breaking sausages.
They are in my cakes now, and
my meatloaf you love,
and in the herbed butter-cover of my
baked shrimp scampi,
and my blueberry frozen custard
we crave on summer nights.
You want two with runny yolks
on top of ramen with only
a little bit of broth and one
cut-up green onion.
Comments