24

Two dozen
years, like eggs,
embryonic, unfertilized,
unlife cracked and splashed
over sizzle-pop olive
oil heating hash the morning after.
One broken piece,
small, brown, jagged edge,
shaped like Connecticut, drifts
into a cloudy white sea
turning tundra when it’s ready
to consume. Delicious.
Shattered out utero armor.
Not enough to notice, or cut
you from the inside, but enough
that you might hear a faint crunch
inside your head, reverberating
amidst the pillars of teeth, feel
them grind into shell and devour.

Equation for the poultry
life that is, sacrificed for
nourishment
unTwo
another.another
young unlife, fried,
over easy, golden insides
hardened, yolk spilling
out across the pan:

shells couldn’t carry
the weight of this walk.

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