Shell Game

Shell Game

Eggshells - viscous yucky shards

a mess, better left unbroken;

walk softly, whisper, agree

to be agreeable

breakfasting on soggy cereal or

just a cuppa

smiling lamely through the

livelong day

"Please don't let me be a burden.

Please, allow me, walk upon my

crooked spinal stairway while

I carry your parcels

in my cracked, bleeding teeth."

Eggshells breaking monthly

inside my womb

But we don't speak of that.

Not polite.  Not politic.

Like religion and horse races --

squandering addictions

'cause we're alright, ya know.

We've nothing to complain of.

Got our daily cakes and tea,

obeisance to the Queen,

jolly good, jelly roll.

On Easter, in the blessing of the Spring,

we paint sweet pastels

gently upon hard-boiled shells,

promising to be good little lambs.

The crust of the Earth,

protecting primeval fire and

gemstones,

seed of the Sun

baring a glorious array of

multi-hued fruits

upon which we feast

for energy

part of this complete breakfast

rounded with an omelet

for growth and repair.