Oddly enough,
Eggshells seem to ignore gravity.
On a dim Sunday morning
They are hard to crack neatly,
Leaving their cargo loose
In the black, shallow iron pan,
But there they then sit in the sink
Refusing to go gently down the disposal
Perched lightly on the black rubber
Floating above their ultimate end.
After the morning eggs are eaten
Their remains sit there in the sink
Reminding us of our trespasses.
About Me
- TBAYNHAMIII
- I was born in Kentucky, though my parents had been living in Knoxville before my birth. My mother's mother lived across the street from the hospital in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, which was convenient. I moved around quite a bit when I was young, but ended up in Georgia. I like to read and write and love food and drink way too much. I have a funny wife and daughter who has finished her batchelor's degree and is living with her grandmother in North Atlanta and studying advertising. I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if I had not gone to law school. Regrets come and go with the seasons.
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