Poetry

Perfect Timing

In our former lives it was you
who turned me upside down
as I somersaulted athletically
to meet your every need
until the demand for soft boiled eggs.
I thought I detected a pattern,
having once lived with a man
who took a hard line on burnt toast,
recalling my father's intolerance of overcooked peas

Now I have your ashes in an egg timer;
daily I turn you upside down,
as deliverance percolates slowly
through your precisely measured remains.

Mary L. Carr