I watch them every morning at the breakfast counter 

eating scrambled eggs with forks pointed prong-side-down,

probing the yellowed fetal goop, scooping heaps

of mashed yoke on the sloping side of the metal

so I smile every time the hoped-for mouthful falls, slumped

in a pile on the plate, the morning-men settling

for a few haphazard egg-stragglers hanging from the spines.

I try it, thinking I’ve gotten on my travels some new

and interesting habit others back home might notice

and ask me where I’ve picked up such a strange notion, maybe

poke fun, but I wouldn’t mind, hopelessly shifting eggs

around my plate—to be set apart from the average

breakfast eaters! I try it a while and go hungry, the meal

cooling, hoping no one’s noticed my spinning the handle

back and forth so maybe they’ll wonder if I’ve ever used

a fork at all, poor confused man; no, like this: see!

Where did we get the idea that different equals better?

I sip the stale coffee, and give up on breakfast altogether.

Joshua Kulseth

+ posts

• In Prague