Scribbled on an egg on top of a tray of free-range eggs in the local Saturday market was the claim ‘It was me that really came first”. I felt that other voices should be heard . . .
“I’m an egg, and I’m surprised that
You haven’t sorted out
That chicken-versus-egg thing.
Well, there isn’t any doubt:
Watch what happens when my shell cracks –
There it goes! Now, did you see?
It’s the egg before the chicken,
That’s the answer. QED.”
“No, the chicken came first really,”
Crowed a voice above the egg.
“In terms of things to stand on,
You just haven’t got a leg.
If you wonder why the cockerel’s
Going cock-a-doodle-doo,
It’s because he knows the truth is,
It was me gave birth to you.”
“The whole question’s academic,”
Said a nearby chef, irate.
“You ought not to waste your hours
In such meaningless debate.
Now the pair of you have pushed me
To the far end of my tether;
I will make a chicken omelette
And you’ll both go in together . . .”