Eggs and Bacon

Eggs and bacon in a pan

With sauced goose and deviled ram

Eat your heart out, Baal Peor

I’ve got a new god, Christ Dior

A ruby winged whippoorwill

And dove flakes on cereal

Baby powder in a cocktail

That dame ties me to a pink rail

Off I go to Bevorough

Wrapped in a sand pebble throw

With egg yolks in my shirt pocket

And bacon bits for the gauntlet

I’m game for the seventy sins

The seventy times seven pins

Eschatological ramrod

Second Coming and lime on cod

Bartered for a smoke and sixpence

Action Comics for fifty cents

So be sure to oil my pan

Put iced cubes before my fan

Then stay awhile my Chickadee

I’ll wash it all down with hot tea

While you stare at my knobby soul

Cistern shaped beeswax in a bowl

Condiment for eggs and bacon

My soul the devil has taken

What’s left of me is worth a munch

So squeeze my whiskers before lunch

Indulge the runny eggs and fat

My life sizzles in a tweed hat

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

2 thoughts on “Eggs and Bacon

  1. A reader who liked this particular poem commented that it was fun and surreal. She said that it reminded her of The Beatles’ “I Am The Walrus.” In response I wrote her the following comment:

    Thank you. I love The Beatles reference. Great music is poetry galavanting about the hinterlands of human consciousness in search of the perfect melody. No one ever finds that perfect melody, but the extreme measures some undertake in the search pull us out from our normal day to day doldrums. We love these extreme souls for knocking us out from our comfort, and we render them the greatest honor that we may bestow: Artist. Like so many unheralded troubadours, The Beatles were artists. They strolled the earth in mud caked boots that never touched the ground.


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