what's wonderfully awkward, comes from gardens and hen houses, and also involves breadatarian aspects ?
a ridiculously large and perhaps slightly overfilled scrambled egg and tomato sandwich between two slices of toast is the answer, in this particular scenario.
last week, one of my traveling poetry class students gave me a freshly picked burpee's beefsteak tomato from his garden, even in this month of october. i decided to put it to good use by making a toasted scrambled egg and tomato sandwich as a reminder the kind which my mom often made when i was younger, before the days when i actually ate tomatoes myself.
my version is rather monstrous, though, and a bit difficult to eat, but it's very worth each clumsily-working bite. i also add pink salt to it instead of the typical white kind.
here is a haiku-ish ode to this sandwich.
*
a last savory
taste of summer sits between
toast. tomato. egg.
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