Western Omelet I love an omelet with Rhode Island eggs, comingled with shredded sharp noodle-sized cheese and sprinkled with salsa to give it some legs, some Bethlehem ham to ensure the dog begs, and riddled with sassy red pepper to please. I love an omelet with Rhode Island eggs that when I raise the heat a couple of pegs the taste buds water and my heart starts to seize, the floor feels like water and weak go my legs. Coupled with coffee with noticeable dregs that wrinkles by cheeks, makes my forehead a frieze, I love the silky lax counterpoint of eggs. They call it a Denver or western by regs but that’s just the marketing, sleaze with a tease like wide seats on a plane with no room for your legs. I break the shells with the confidence of yeggs cracking a bank vault with a thief’s expertise enjoying the treasure of Rhode Island eggs adorned with a salsa to give it some legs.
We Started with a War of Words We started with a war of words and ended with the terms of peace brought not by slowing down tongue’s sword but by vocabulary’s cease.
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California with his wife and works in mental health. He has contributed to Tar River Poetry, Williwaw Journal, Heartbeat, and Red Wolf Journal.
Grand Little Things 