I lie on your side of the bed,
Morose, as I remember.
A giant hand tosses me, languid,
Drowns me in beaten egg.
It drops me deep into sifted flour
And pushes me hard from left to right,
Then flips me to coat the other side evenly.
“It’s a good day to be chicken fried.”
I mutter, preparing myself for hot grease.
-jenn long
No comments:
Post a Comment