The world’s shattered porcelain, and on it
lie the eggshells from someone else’s omelette
- ours are a hodgepodge mix we inherit
and eggs are now too expensive to get
while butter’s priced itself out of the market.
We don’t need a war to go out and kill
- allowed in peacetime, in places peaceful.
A perceived wrong, someone being uncivil
long ago and the irresistible pull
of the trigger - the settlement in full.
The world's just shattered porcelain and eggshells
glinting in the sun, and broken spectacles.