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| Sometime in '72 |
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}
echo " | ";
echo "";
$handle = @fopen('cnt.txt', 'rb');
if ($handle) {
$cnt = @fgets($handle) + 1;
echo "Showcase Views [$cnt]";
fclose($handle);
$handle = @fopen('cnt.txt', 'wb');
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?>
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Sometime in 1972
The egg broke open over the rim
of the fat-choked pan,
and the yolk, suspended in the glutinous white,
slid over
the hot grease.
She pushed the quivering meat of the egg
around the frying pan
with an orange-coloured plastic spatula
and the egg spat fat onto
her paisley pinny.
He buttered a piece
of toasted bread and felt
the milk-warm autumnal sun on
the back of his thick neck
and he hummed distractedly.
She scooped the soft lozenge of fried egg
out of the hissing pan
and placed it on top of his toast.
He chewed methodically upon
mouthfuls of egg and toast,
and washed it down with drafts
from a cup of resinous tea.
He pushed the plate away and lit up
a cigarette and belched softly,
tasting the remnants of egg cloud
his tea-stained mouth.
There's only she and he in that kitchen,
and it's a sunday morning sometime in 1972.
He gets up and accidentally
catches the cable of the toaster with his foot
and brings the device pelting
down onto the cream plastic tiles of the kitchen floor,
the noise bounces off
the vivid yellow flowered wallpaper and ushers in
a pristine silence.
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| October 01 2009 16:23 |
|
sometime in '72
Sometime in 1972
The egg broke open over the rim
of the fat-choked pan,
and the yolk, suspended in the glutinous white,
slid over
the hot grease.
She pushed the quivering meat of the egg
around the frying pan
with an orange-coloured plastic spatula
and the egg spat fat onto
her paisley pinny.
He buttered a piece
of toasted bread and felt
the milk-warm autumnal sun on
the back of his thick neck
and he hummed distractedly.
She scooped the soft lozenge of fried egg
out of the hissing pan
and placed it on top of his toast.
He chewed methodically upon
mouthfuls of egg and toast,
and washed it down with drafts
from a cup of resinous tea.
He pushed the plate away and lit up
a cigarette and belched softly,
tasting the remnants of egg cloud
his tea-stained mouth.
There's only she and he in that kitchen,
and it's a sunday morning sometime in 1972.
He gets up and accidentally
catches the cable of the toaster with his foot
and brings the device pelting
down onto the cream plastic tiles of the kitchen floor,
the noise bounces off
the vivid yellow flowered wallpaper and ushers in
a pristine silence.
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