Golden Eggs


white eggs


Eggs sizzling in the rivers of fat from the bacon, sausages and black pudding of others


As they pile on the pounds that threaten to consume them, to suck them into their own


 vortex, their own centre of gravity, the iris of the self.


A black dot contracting and expanding.






Hanging on


At nine AM


for its last breath




it swims away like a black tadpole


in a downfall of freshly squeezed orange juice


diluted by creamy warm coffee


stalked by hot scalding tea


bumped along and shifted into


a soft yolky sandpit landing …





Copyright owned by Jay Cool

The Photo is from Max Pixel and is labelled as a Creative Commons image, free for reuse.


Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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