"Eggs & Toast"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
About a girl that knows shes losing her man...

Submitted: June 10, 2017

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Submitted: June 10, 2017

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“Eggs & Toast”

 

 

She knew that,

She had lost him,

As she takes,

A piece of toast,

And jabs,

The pointy end,

Into the fleshy part,

Of the yellow yoke,

Of one of the two,

Sunny-side up eggs,

Resting on her plate.

He didn’t say,

It was over,

He didn’t have to,

She lets the,

Piece of toast,

Soak up as much,

Of the yoke,

As it can,

Softening the,

3-day old,

Sourdough bread,

Just enough,

To take the edge off,

The scratchiness,

Of her toast.

It was his eyes,

When he looked,

At her,

They said,

What she already knew.

She finished her,

First egg,

Then took her knife,

And carefully cut,

All the white,

Away from the yoke,

Of the second egg,

Then stabbed,

All the cut-up pieces,

With her fork,

Till she had,

Them all lined up,

On the 4-prongs,

Of her fork,

And then,

She ate them,

All in one bite.

She took,

Another piece of toast,

And poked at,

The lonely yoke,

Sitting,

Off to the side,

Of her plate,

She didn’t puncture it,

Just teased it,

With her toast,

Till the membrane,

Couldn’t take anymore,

Breaking open,

Releasing its reservoir,

Of yellow yoke,

On to the plate,

And the tip,

Of the 3-day old,

Sourdough toast,

She had in her hand.

She remembered,

The first time,

Those eyes,

Looked at her,

With love,

Now,

They just seemed,

Vacant.

She finished,

Mopping up the yoke,

With the two,

Remaining pieces of toast,

Each bite getting,

More and more,

Crunchy,

As there was,

Less and less,

Yoke,

To soften it up with,

She compensated,

With a drink,

Of coffee,

While the crunchy,

Toast,

Was still in her,

Mouth.

She takes her,

Last bites of toast,

As the waitress,

Refills her coffee,

And takes her,

Empty plate,

While side stepping,

Past one customer,

And filling the cup,

Of another.

She stares down,

Into her full,

Cup of coffee,

Takes her spoon,

And stirs it,

As if it,

Needed to be done,

Even though,

She always drinks it,

Black.

He knew it,

When he looked at her,

She knew,

It was over,

Her eyes were,

Always able to see,

Right into,

His heart,

She knew,

He was leaving.

He looks up,

From his plate,

And across the table,

At her,

Watching as she stirs,

Her full cup,

Of black coffee,

Her eyes looking down,

At nothing else,

But her plate,

Of 2-eggs,

Sunny side-up,

And 4-pieces,

Of 3-day old,

Sourdough toast…

 

Tom Allen…06-08-2017…

 

 


© Copyright 2017 Tom Allen714. All rights reserved.

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