French Fries and Mayonnaise

She is only an egg
A child covered in shell
Vulnerable to the brutal waves
Of cascading terror.

She has a heart
As yellow as marigold petals
As perfect as the full moon
In which an embryonic ticking sound rests.

She too has a body — the surrounding albumin
The olive white skin
That conceals her throbbing heart
After all she has a supple tenderness
Only a child possesses.

And then in an unforeseen moment
The ticking noise blows apart, splattering a carnage of yolk
– A heart full of mustard hate –
Where now a small dose of Mayonnaise can be seen
Sprinkled on petite shanks of pomme frites
The crisp gone forever
When soggy bones and wet flesh
Was all that the streets knew

An egg and a potato – two spherical blobs
Just two children in Paris……
One grew a seed of mustard deep inside her yolk
And the other was saturated by joie-de-starch
And what separated them was not the shell or the skin
But what grew in the inside – after all love and hate
Grow side-by-side, oblivious to the other
Until one day two worlds collide
As pieces of yolk and starch scatter
Down the same boulevard

And in that rendez-vous
Rests a story of terror – of a condiment served cold
Like mustard-rich, lemon-flavored egg yolk
Unlike love or amour
Which is always burning hot and crispy all over
Just like a cup of French fries;

Until dipped in a petite mound
Of cold and silky mayonnaise.

 

french fries

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