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Frying Pan Massacre

Summer’s shine peeked through my window,
on to the lone frying pan on the dish rack
Spotted with specks of water
and the vague aroma of lemon dish soap;
perfectly ready to serve my breakfast
I reach in my chilly fridge
to find two smooth, white eggs
The cold eggs shiver back and forth;
must be chilled to the yolk
I glance over at the frying pan
and place it on the burner,
add olive oil to the pan,
and in an instant, the flame ignites
The oil crackles over the pan
I grabbed my first egg
Three knocks on the counter,
and the egg spills its heart out
The frying pan snaps at me,
spits hot oil on my cold shoulders
Pain flows through my body
Add salt and pepper
to my hunger remedy, which slid itself
to the large, glass plate
Returning to the sink, frying pan at hand,
it releases itself from my fingertips
crashing my exposed toes,
involuntarily releasing my sound of pain
I pick up my latest enemy,
throw him back in the sink,
and pour ice cold water on his surface.
Victory

was


mine



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