Don’t take this metaphor
too seriously,
but an egg can be lifted
in the early stages
of gradual boiling, a matter
of timing before it’s too late.
A decision to stop
the inevitable hardening,
plan to escape the pan
with fingertips unburnt.
Some impulse
decides to alter the process
before its cooked,
and life can turn up such stress,
banality and habitually.
For me,
I’d rather risk the “grab”
even if that’s a struggle,
than accept the latent heat
of eventual
indifference to surroundings.
Of course, some juggle eggs,
but I wouldn’t recommend that
as an alternate recipe.
