Broken Plate By Eric Casey What’s for dinner tonight? I’ll go check the fridge and have a bite to eat while I read a book. I wonder what’s to eat. Let’s take a look. I take a plate of pasta from the fridge Some of the sauce falls, just a smidge Onto the floor It descends like a thick raindrop during a downpour. I take a step, toward the table I slip I trip I flip The plate falls before I am able to catch it in my outstretched hand. The plate shatters with a crash The world stops to hear the smash The plate explodes like shrapnel from a grenade. The ceramic against tile sounds like a cacophonous serenade. Sauce smears and splatters upon the floor exploding like bright red gore from a cheesy horror flick The pasta sauce looks so gooey and thick. There was a shout, a yell, a scream, as my family rushes to the scene. Pieces of broken plate lie all over the place. Ambulance sirens wail; the medics rush in at a blinding pace. The doctors said the plate was broken beyond repair. I waited to be told how I would fare From the scars and scrapes of the fall But everyone was talking about the plate down the hall. The ER staff tried everything, glue, and paste, and even string. They put the plate on life support Until the line went flat and they cut the battle short. I realize they had a lot on their plate, But I think the doctors should have gotten their priorities straight. Humpty Dumpty had more hope than that dish. That it goes to heaven is my only wish. I finally got home from the emergency room only to see that I needed a mop and a broom. Let’s end this story so I can clean. I have a big mess here if you haven’t seen. So here ends this eulogy to the late Mr. Plate.
Posted on: Wed, 24 Jul 2013 22:16:16 +0000
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