Hard Boiled Eggs.

 

When it rained hard boiled eggs

I said nothing.

It took me all morning

to scrape 'em off the fence

and driveway.

I said nothing because

'the quiet man triumphs

over all.'

So my Zen master told me.

A month later a flock

of moths

descended on my children

and ate them.

There was nothing left

but their shoes 

and braces.

My Zen master said

'If you let them go

you will keep them always.'

So I did.

But when the maple tree

in the backyard asked

me for a cigarette

I lost it.

"I don't smoke, you ninny!"

I shouted at it.

"Don't burst a vein, dude"

it said right back to me.

"I'll bum one off the lilac bush."

Just then my Zen master

came out of my house

(he lived with us, in

the basement)

and began to chant something.

But I cut him off with a blow

to the head with a garden

rake.

I suspected he was trying

to get my wife to dye

her hair blonde

and then run off with her.

When they questioned me 

down at the police station

I said I was looking for the

Pure Land,

and nothing more.

So they let me go.

And then I let go as well.

I desire nothing.

I think of nothing.

I am nothing.

And a man

made out of pillows

has just climbed 

through the window.