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.