Noodle Prompt / Scotch Eggs
Commando in Kilts
A silly and slightly risque poem

Scotch eggs, a mystery to me — are they marinated in Chivas, served as canapes on little silver platters at parties formed around cocktails and chatter?
Are they imported from the land of my MacDonald ancestors, passing through customs and TSA kiosks?
Do they wear tartan kilts, going commando beneath, while playing bagpipes on fields of heather?
Are they served with tatties, blood pudding, and baked beans, a breakfast for the brave and hopelessly Scottish?
Are they ginger-haired orbs resembling naked troll dolls with rounded bellies and stubby legs of plastic?
Perhaps, they’re wee bairns, peely-walley and roond, smelling of siabann and bainne cìche?
Scotch eggs, a mystery to me — and so they will stay cause Google says they’re everyday eggs, wrapped in sausage and deep-fried —
Really? I prefer my eggs commando in kilts!

In response to this innocent prompt by Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她):
