She ate an egg.
Have you ever heard the phrase.
"Fool me once, shame on you,
Fool me twice, shame on me"?
Well that phrase has never held a vice
as applicable to my life as the days
when I was tricked into eating eggs twice.
The kitchen was occupied by three cooking
and two saying goodbye.
My eyes were so drowsy from nights lost
from double takes, and onward looking
that I was crossed into biting off more
than I knew I could ever chew.
I never considered an egg to be meat,
but when I bit that bite it hit me.
"Eggs come from chickens!"
so I spit out and my spitting quickened.
They marveled at my monotony
and their snickering had me smitten.
"No, no." They jested "Eggs are pure fun!"
but I won't retain in my brain the calamity
of something so delectable keeping me on the run.
"I'll trust you this time, but don't try again."
I pierced the little piece of egg and teased
the morsel with pepper, but left salt undone.
The warm egg bit made my mouth its domain
with each taste bud tasting in dread.
Their eyes were quenching small tears of pain
from confining laughter and chuckling instead.
"I can't believe you did this to me!" I yelled
with, leaving my lips, little meat missiles I call eggs.