Friday Fragments: Twice Boiled Eggs

--This morning, I took the last 2 hard boiled eggs out of the fridge for breakfast.  I decided to boil some more eggs.  Sure enough, I put the 2 hardboiled eggs in the pot of water with the raw eggs.  Now we shall see how twice boiled eggs work.

--I see this as a metaphor for something--but what?

--Last night, we had planned to go to 2& for 80's ukulele night.  But I got in and my spouse was assembling the file cabinet that he'd bought 2 months ago.  So, I told him to keep working--after all, we could always go later than we planned. 

--While he was working on the file cabinet, I watched a bit of the PBS Newshour show.  I watched a bit of the testimony of dismissed FBI director's deputy.  That second-in-command spoke so eloquently of his dismissed chief.  Very classy.

--Then I thought, let me not waste valuable time watching the news.  I poured myself a bit of wine and returned to Margaret Drabble's The Dark Flood Rises.  What a wonderful book; I'll write more about it when I'm finished.

--Finally my spouse finished the filing cabinet.  We decided we'd rather have a quiet night at home than battle traffic and downtown crowds.  As we sat on our front porch, I realized I'd rather be on the front porch at the end of the day than just about anywhere else.

--My spouse read some of the poems from Anna Leahy's Aperture, which had just arrived.  He read some persona poems of characters related to The Wizard of Oz.  One of them was at a press conference.  I thought of the testimony I'd watched earlier, and wondered why I hadn't thought of that setting for poems.

--Let me think of some possibilities today.  I wrote one poem earlier this week, a very quiet poem about Jesus folding the grave clothes on Easter morning.  I need to get back to more poetry writing, and persona poems are often a way back to my poet self.

--I have now eaten 3 hard boiled eggs.  I think of a poem in the style of William Carlos Williams:

I have eaten the hard boiled eggs.
Were any of them twice boiled?
I cannot tell.
Forgive me.
They were so nutritious,
covered in salt.

--Let me stress that I do not think this poem-like thing can compete with that poem about the cold, delicious plums.