How do you like your egg she said;

beside another one I cried.

With bread that’s sliced and nicely fried,

and some baked beans, take that as read.

 

Some bacon then, I thought aloud,

a crispy rasher, maybe two,

and mushrooms? Possibly a few,

just sautéed lightly, I avowed.

 

To wash it down? Some English tea,

nectar of the breakfast table;

I’ll drink as much as I am able,

think how perfect that would be.

 

I looked at her, my eyes so wide,

as her great skillet smoked and spat.

She turned to me in caveat;

just eggs, she smiling said; I sighed.