Two Eggs

The morning are quiet
I listen to the birds—she
who had a musical ear
would recognize their songs.
I can’t, I just hear
their cheerful cacophony,
earlier I heard muted songs
of insects, the rumble of frogs,
sometimes the yapping of dog—
she hated that—no human voices,
sometimes not even a radio
no arguments with politicians,
so-called experts, charlatans
pontificating over the air, no
discussion of the day past
or the day that is starting,
no push back, just the silence
of an unnaturally quiet house
and the comforting background
calls of nature’s exuberance,
preparing breakfast, two soft
boiled eggs, she worried about
cholesterol and insisted on only
one each, an ideal breakfast
when cooked correctly,
I continue to cook two
eggs , aiming for that
elusive perfection
and eat them both.

Peter Goodwin