Silent Egg Eating
And all we can hear are the birds,
keeping up their incessant conversation,
whilst we, war weary and broken,
eat eggs in silence;
pushing our spoons through this beginning stuff,
avoiding eye contact but keeping pace,
the salt of our wounds crunches as I tear the white,
primal, flesh.
Our scraping joins the Sunday traffic,
and all we can hear is the birds,
and the words we are still screaming.
Deborah McClean is a teacher from Northern Ireland, but living in Wales and working in England. Writing poetry gives her an excuse to indulge in her favourite past-time: tea guzzling, as she travels from one country to the next.