The Omelet
I unbroke that rotten egg
right before it dropped
into the bowl thus saving
the omelet.
It was just a fevered dream
that my fellow voters
insisted they loved the smell
of sulfur
and black spots in the yolk
were nothing to worry
about— just some added
seasoning.
But there’s no awakening from this nightmare.
I’m doomed to eat a poisoned breakfast.
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
👍the wisdom in omlelet
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Omelets are the wisest breakfast.
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Even it’s spoty and specks?
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You’ll certainly learn something if you eat one like that.
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I will ponder on that one….☺
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Lucky you have eggs. 🍳
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They’re poetic eggs so I’m not sure if they count.
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Being woke about the yoke…
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Ha!
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