Y - The stupidest thing

The stupidest thing I ever did
was trying to cook an egg
on a Greek flagstone.

You see, I overheard a poolsider:
"You could fry an egg on these flagstones."
I thought, "Sounds like a challenge."

I thought, if we squeeze that sun for all its worth,
like the drunk wringing the bar towel damp-dry,
no more killing folks for important stuff
like oil.

It was only a theory.

The egg tussled its way out
on my smoothed-out splash of olive fat,
its molecules a crowd dispersing,
adopting more space than anticipated.

I fancied myself Jamie Oliver, winking at the sun,
my producer; addressing it as "mate", saying -
when the moment took me - "choice" and "pukka".
I even sprinkled a few fresh herbs, like he does,
hands high, a wizard brewing spell potion.

The fat family from Halifax were intrigued
albeit bemused.

Five hours later. In my mouth, the bacteria,
day-long revellers in the sunshine, swayed
giddily; then down an underpass to a dingy club for

five all-nighters. All-dayers. Hedonistic, smiley,

ie. my residue holiday saw the inside of a
hospitable Corfu hospital screwed to drip,
drip, drips. My Karen's bedside manner was

sympathetic - nurses. Never off duty. Though
she did use words like "mental collapse"
And "knobhead".

She said, there's a time and place for trailblazing
and this was neither.