Eggs in a wire basket

Honest Haiku: Eleven

Happy Easter, all!

I write to you from my parent’s bag garden. The sun is beating down on my Factor 50-covered back and I am finally able to eat chocolate again!

Today, of course, got me thinking about eggs; not just the ones covered in foil (yum) but the ones I have inside me, too.

And so, I quickly came up with my next Honest Haiku, inspired by the ever-increasing comments about my age and my single, childless status. To everyone who has to deal with this: this one’s for you.

Eggs in a wire basket

 

Honest Haiku: Eleven

Don’t talk to me ‘bout
my eggs expiring, unless
they’re the chocolate kind.

 

READ MORE OF MY POETRY:

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