Timeless as plastic
fetching as bare brown feet in indigo rubber
at the post xmas sales frazzled
I don’t recognise my yoga buddies dressed and standing,
should I sit? Then I remember
last night’s dream.
Doctor tells me I still have some eggs left. wtf.
Naturally, it’s only a metaphor,
over egged and
tireless as a calendar poet’s ovaries but
should I worry?
I’m two months overdue,
and under egged.
Oh Efi! Remember it well.
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