The Egg

Matthew Crane

There is an oblong thing.
Its white by candle yellow.

Inside, unseen innards
can goosh and grow and mix
a dash life- color, and down
in sticky strands to fluff
and feather flower forth,
a chicken, not an omelet

Not an over-easy
nor a cheesy scramble
nor a freckled lizard
nor a stippled trout
nor a Bengal tiger
nor a gilded vase

And it is well one would wonder
“why?” What wills or miracles,
will well proportion chickens
from this, an oblong thing?