The Best of Science Fiction 12

We live in the egg,

We have covered the inside wall

of the shell with dirty drawings

and the Christian names of our enemies.

We are being hatched.

Whoever is hatching us

is hatching our pencils as well.

Set free from the egg one day

at once we shall draw a picture

of whoever is hatching us.

We assume that we're being hatched

We imagine some good-natured fowl

and write school essays

about the colour and breed

of the hen that is hatching us.

When shall we break the shell?

Our prophets inside the egg

for a middling salary argue

about the period of incubation.

They posit a day called X.

Out of boredom and genuine need

we have invented incubators.

We are much concerned about our offspring inside the egg.

We should be glad to recommend our patent

to her who looks after us.

But we have a roof over our heads.

Senile chicks,

polyglot embryos

chatter all day

and even discuss their dreams.

And what if we're not being hatched?

If this shell will never break?

If our horizon is only that

of our scribbles, and always will be?

We hope that we're being hatched.

Even if we only talk of hatching

there remains the fear that someone

outside our shell will feel hungry

and crack us into the frying pan with a pinch of salt. —

What shall we do then, my brethren inside the egg?