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Frying Pan Massacre

By monnnster, Congers, NY

Summer’s shine peeked through my window,
on to the lone frying pan on the dish rack
Spotted with specks of water
and the vague aroma of lemon dish soap;
perfectly ready to serve my breakfast
I reach in my chilly fridge
to find two smooth, white eggs
The cold eggs shiver back and forth;
must be chilled to the yolk
I glance over at the frying pan
and place it on the burner,
add olive oil to the pan,
and in an instant, the flame ignites
The oil crackles over the pan
I grabbed my first egg
Three knocks on the counter,
and the egg spills its heart out
The frying pan snaps at me,
spits hot oil on my cold shoulders

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