True Grit
©2011 Susan Noyes Anderson
“I’ll make a bet with you,” Dad said.
(The desert heat was roasting.)
“I’ll cook your breakfast right out here.”
I thought that he was boasting.
Why, everybody knows that eggs
can’t fry up on the ground.
But I was wrong; I knew it when
I heard that sizzling sound.
I looked down, and my jaw dropped.
I cried out with sheer delight.
That egg was frying on the sidewalk!
What an awesome sight.
Dad handed me a fork, and
my enthusiasm fled.
I take my eggs with hash browns,
but he gave me grit(s) instead.
(Nothing like a little gravel to add some texture to your eggs!)
∞§∞
If you got a kick out of this poem, you might also enjoy For the Birds.
Tags: breakfast, dad, eggs, fathers, funny poem for children, silly stuff