The Eggshell

The eggshell is levitating

hovering above the drain 

in my otherwise barren kitchen sink.

The water I’ve deployed thus far 

proves no match for this formidable foe.

Stubborn, unrelenting

a slight tremor, a little shake

the eggshell mocks my efforts.

But the eggshell doesn’t know me.

Ha!

I will run water until I don't have to

until I’m no longer bound

by especial rules of engagement. 

Ergo

until the eggshell bypasses the gasket

drops into the disposal

until it keeps company

with the slimy potato peels

and gritty coffee grounds.

There is doubt

more substantive than a shadow

that I will be successful. 

I may be compelled 

to tap the eggshell with fingers forbidden

or pluck it from the 

otherwise barren kitchen sink

toss it into the garbage

raise my arms to the heavens

and say

You won.

Yes, there is doubt 

serious, substantive

significant doubt.

It excites me, incites me

frightens me.

Y I do what I do, undoubtedly.

The tap is wide open

gallons of icy water slip within the cracks.

How reckless!

Mother Nature’s tears.

But this not a waste! 

I am not so callous.

My battles are chosen

with prudence

fought honorably

with intent.

This battle is everything.

I am not aware the water is boiling.

The egg that I cracked 

will soon spill over

spatter its rubbery white shrapnel

on the clean stove.

The fate of the eggshell 

my fate

is all that matters.

If X then Y …

a logical concept

usurped by an obsessively

compulsively

illogical mind.

I am pondering this desperate 

disperate

way of thinking

of living

when I sense the eggshell’s impending descent.

One more blast.

I aim my weapon

at this ruthless and worthy opponent,

the eggshell that which wishes me dead,

and I win.

Today.

This moment.

This eggshell.

E Pluribus Unum.