Ode to an egg puff

Nestled inside a craggy crust

The forbidden fruit beckons me

Forbidden, for it is of impure blood

Of a single brood of poultry eves

The adam in me is persistent but

Spices and onions act as its accompaniment

Small-arms fire in a merriment

It is now not a question of morals

Otherwise, L J Iyengar would be very vocal

Every day is a good day

The government says

Happy to report

That I too can contribute

Perfect recipe for a quick catch up

Especially when drenched with ketchup

Is it an addiction? I sometimes wonder

Looking at the four pieces split asunder

Never has an act of consumption

Been so much about consummation