I thought today of scrambled eggs,
of cooking them on the right amount of heat
I thought today of that white skillet —
so hard to see —
with the oil soaking them subtly.
I thought today of salt and pepper,
a hail of seasoning,
making a Ben Day painting of my eggs,
one of texture
with sodium warnings from the Surgeon General.
I thought today of using hot sauce
and even the trademark of the name Tabasco.
And of the “maybe”
of using this condiment burnt off my tongue,
erased by its own liquid lowe.
I thought today of metal forks,
and how old this bent one must be
musical — as it scrapes the plate in delicious cacophony.
It, a memory leaked
through, just like the yolk.
I did not think today of hunger.
Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published over 100 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 50 different journals. He loves to travel.