Soldiers lined up in perfect formation

beside the egg, its skull cracked,

peeled back bit by bit,

white matter exposed and discarded.

 

The soldiers move in, drowning

themselves in gold treasure.

The metal tool enters the fray,

scraping up every last vestige of life.

 

Ejected shell casings lie scattered about

amid crumbs of debris

and puddles of dripped butter.

 

I sip my tea and pretend

the telegram on the corner

of the table never came.

updated by @americymru: 11/17/16 12:33:37AM