My Frying Pan Poem by Francie Lynch

My Frying Pan



If my skillet's unearthed
Some long time on
By somethings human,
They'd need a rune
To reveal the smells
Of Sunday breakfast,
The sizzles and grizzles
Of that relic.
It won't explain
What to blame
From first fire,
To my frying pan.

Thursday, March 26, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: apocalypse
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Francie Lynch

Francie Lynch

Monaghan, Ireland
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