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The Price of Eggs

Andy 1 min read
poetry
The Price of Eggs
Kelp Forest at Anacapa Island

I dreamt I was a kelp forest swaying in pitch-
-black waters. Above me moonlight fluttered

like confetti and seagulls roosted on cliff-sides
and buoys. An oil tanker drifted by, the workers

playing cards and smoking cigarettes as though
they hadn’t a thing to fear on Earth, for in this

world everything was in its place, schools of
Mackerel in the sea, lighthouses promising

safety in the darkness, tides brushing beaches,
rivers sanding rocks, and everywhere

good people sleeping safely in their beds.
If you’ve ever chanced upon a peaceful dream

and stayed asleep despite knowing it’s unreal
and tragedy is the blanket keeping you warm,

then you understand what it is to be awoken
by a pair of rough hands around your neck and

a hungry mob setting fire to the ripe fields,
spitting gibberish about the price of eggs.

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