Went to the frig
For a boiled egg.
At the veggie tray—
Not looking for veg.
Didn't see what I wanted,
But knew it was there.
My question then:
The eggs! But where?
Then, before my eyes,
In spite of myself,
Boiled eggs in a bowl
On the bottom shelf.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Classic! So often we don’t find a thing because we have wrong exoectations about how it looks. Lost us an hour just this week not recognising our suitcase on the airport carousel. My poem “This poem is not about potatoes’ has a similar message.