when I was young we had set meals at home

fish on Fridays

Sunday lunch roasts

sausage and mash Mondays

Tuesday soups

I cannot remember the other bland meal days

there was only one way to break the monotony 

…………………..get sick

not life threatening sick, just a cold or flu would suffice

for anybody sick was allowed to pick their own comfort food

I chose poached eggs on toast

my mother prepared them exactly as I liked

white bread toasted medium and warm

butter spread to the edges

eggs gently poached with a runny yolk

lightly seasoned with salt and pepper

I would cut open the poached egg

watching the glorious yellow liquid yoke 

running all over the toast

like lava flowing from an erupting volcano

then I would slice the white into chunks

each bite was so memorable

firm crunchy toast softened by creamy melted butter

liquid yolk and melting butter making out like teenagers

while dancing together wildly to rock music 

chunks of egg white flopped motionless on top

like lily white virgin sunbathers on a packed beach

all the flavors popped with each bite

a veritable party in your mouth

it made me want to linger in my sickbed

just to get another comfort meal

after growing up and getting married

I still expected comfort food when sick

my wife did her best to oblige

but the toast was overdone and cold

the butter never made it to the edge

the seasoning was oh so wrong

and the egg yolk was harder than concrete

it just sat in the middle of the toast in a protest demonstration 

refusing to be spread to the edges 

I prayed for a police intervention to remove it

but the poached egg yolk quality control cops never showed

I said thank you to my wife while forcing it down with a fake smile 

I got better very quickly indeed

we eventually got divorced

the lawyers cited her lack of poached egg skills

the judge nodded with disdain

my mother is in heaven now serving perfect poached eggs on toast every day

thats why we hardly ever see angels down here