beDEVILed by Eggs
©2013 Susan Noyes Anderson
Whenever I’m in search of feed,
a deviled egg is all I need.
This worries me, because I fear
it’s angeled eggs I should revere.
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Whenever I’m in search of feed,
a deviled egg is all I need.
This worries me, because I fear
it’s angeled eggs I should revere.
A happy birthday to myself!
I just turned sixty-one.
I’d like to say that things are great
and getting old is fun.
My kitchen is perched between heaven and hell,
but it leans in the latter direction.
The dishes I’m cooking are don’t ask, don’t tell
with abstaining the only protection.
My favorite teacher told me in my youth:
“You’ll always be a leader; that’s your truth.”
This left me feeling special, even proud.
I’d often thought the same, though not out loud.
You hold forth in your wisdom
as if truth began with you,
each argument refuted by
your “worthy” point of view.
Today’s too hot to bark or bite,
too warm to walk or wag.
I’m not inclined to chomp or chew.
(My jowls are on the sag.)
He said yes. She said no.
She said high. He said low.
He said dark. She said light.
She said wrong. He said right.