The Egg

Shoes strapped, check the drawers,
the giant’s gone astray.
The glasses never fit, and the bottles ache to pour.
Lipsticked toes and
 polished lips can’t hide the fact
that something’s here.
So, yeah, I climbed the vine,
I found the harp. It’s only a
matter of time before that goose
gives itself away.

The egg is mine.