​Its where it all took place
My childhood
That hub of in and out
A cookie jar whose lid
Always lifted by each entrant
Signaled one was home
The cookies
Always hard, crispy

Offspring guided in cookery
By watching,
Those efforts of care
More than for bodily sustenance
Where sometimes life’s
Frustrations got the better
Of the fry cook
A broken yolk
A seeming disaster
I never understood

Last night, my second son 
Asked how to make
A fried egg sandwhich
The step by step
The question and answer
An absolute pleasure
And no one got mad when
Both of those golden yolks broke