Neglected By Thomas Caton

Although conditioned to empathise,

a vindictive streak interrupted him

triggering the worst of his qualities.

He’d wanted to create

something special for her-

the perfect breakfast,

but the egg carton was empty

and she was accountable.

So he foraged in the garden

found a white, speckled oval

in the undergrowth

and handled it delicately.

From being placed in a egg cup

she tapped it with the

back of a spoon.

It did not crack and split

merely collapsed in on itself.

No white skin stretched,

no yolk ran

no salt was added

no toast was dipped

and when the shell splintered

it seemed hollow as an igloo.

But inside, amid the shards of shell

sat a lump of flesh,

a tuft of hair, a thread of vein,

a yellowed beak and two blind eyes-

formless, near-life, poisoned gunk

just as he had envisaged.

And she screamed.

And she screamed.