photo by Allie's Dad
A Quiet Life
by Baron Wormser
What a person desires in life
is a properly boiled egg.
This isn't as easy as it seems.
There must be gas and a stove,
the gas requires pipelines, mastodon drills,
banks that dispense the lozenge of capital.
There must be a pot, the product of mines
and furnaces and factories,
of dim early mornings and night-owl shifts,
of women in kerchiefs and men with
Then water, the stuff of clouds and skies
and God knows what causes it to happen.
There seems always too much or too little
of it and more pipelines, meters, pumping
stations, towers, tanks.
And salt--a miracle of the first order,
the ace in any argument for God.
Only God could have imagined from
nothingness the pang of salt.
(the rest of the poem is at The Writer's Almanac)
For more perfectly boiled poems (with salt), you'll find the roundup at Two Writing Teachers.
Speaking of roundups, the code for July-December is complete. Let me know if you'd like me to send it to you so you can have the roundup schedule on your blog.