I remember teatimes, saying Grace eyes half-shut - but focused. A cupped egg, smooth and round and brown. Buttered fingers of bread besides. One satisfying smash, the shell mosaiced, mining with spoon in hand - glorious, globs of golden yolk. "Please God, let it be soft-boiled".
Just 44 words for De’s Quadrille prompt: Smashing Poems
PoetryPix 