Musings by The Poet Loriet

The Egg Chronicles

We told her to
sit on an egg and rotate,
never believing she would do it,
but she did~
spinning and careening out of control
until she was stuck with a problem,
and she sat and she sat...
slowly losing all of her marbles
into inner space,
and the yolk's on her.
She's scrambled up,
got egg on her face
while her brain was fried...
and, yes, she knows the poacher
and we're all in agreement.
He's in for a wickedly nasty
henpecking 'cause
she's crying fowl,
silly chick.
I fear he'll roost
in the doghouse tonight.


Lori Beal


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The Egg Chronicles

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