Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Bless your enchilada-less menu that brings me, no really,
to tears as I stand there hoping for dinner. True depth
of emotion is so hard to find our daily lives.
Praise to your tasteless beans, lukewarm pile in a Styrofoam box;
they won't burn my hungry boy's mouth, their lack of spice refusing
to detract his focus from the beauties of spring that surround us.
Light and love go with your bored, surly employees, not one
of whom is Mexican, but who here, in this Land of Opportunity,
can nonetheless work in a self-proclaimed ethnic eatery,
stepping up to the counter as they do, to offer me, a stranger,