two tacos
I’m convinced this poem is better listened to than read.
You can listen to it here or read it below.
It’s about 11:30 in the early afternoon.
The sun is out, but it’s not too hot.
The temperature is somewhere between 74 and 79 degrees.
A slight wind is blowing from the North or maybe the South.
I don’t have a compass with me.
My stomach begins to feel empty.
My hollow insides begin to beg for sustenance.
Cries from my belly echo the faint whisper of a beautiful word:
Taco.
In order to avoid growing hangry I decide to make my way to the local taco joint to get a taco.
No, I think I’ll get two tacos.
It’s a big day.
One with chicken.
Fried chicken.
It’s a fried chicken taco.
And the other with shrimp.
That’s right, shrimp.
A shrimp taco.
I know what you’re thinking.
What about beef?
What about pork?
What about steak?
Do you even know what a taco is?
Oh, I know.
But not for me.
I’m a simple man.
I know what I like.
Fried chicken and shrimp.
That’s right, a shrimp taco.
On the fried chicken taco there is cheese melting and dancing on the crispy meat.
It’s a farm fiesta.
A party for one.
Surrounding the strip of fried chicken is a blanket of lettuce and a few diced tomatoes.
Bring the garden, I’m hungry.
And then there is a sauce.
Always sauce.
I love sauce.
Something like ranch but also chipotle with a hint of lime.
They call it chipotle lime ranch.
I call it, perfect.
The creamy river flows across the top of the taco, perfectly placed like the Mississippi or Amazon.
Before I take a bite, I stuff fresh tortilla chips inside the taco.
Because this taco, for all that it has, it needs crunch.
With every bite I want to hear the thunder of taste inside my mouth, alerting my stomach that help is on the way.
A few bites later and I’ve made it halfway through my meal.
I remind myself to slow down.
I’m always reminding myself to slow down.
I look at my plate.
It now holds a single shrimp taco.
That’s right, a shrimp taco.
This hasn’t always been my order, but now that I’m an adult, it is.
For years I ignored the shrimp taco, wondering why it was even on the menu.
But I’ve learned.
I’ve learned to never sleep on the shrimp taco, don’t sleep on the shrimp taco.
It’s zesty.
It’s inviting.
It’s divine.
It’s a sophisticated taco, one that people see you eating and say, “woah! what is that? It looks amazing.”
I slowly wipe my mouth, and say, “it’s a taco, a shrimp taco.”
They call me sir as they leave.
I’ve earned their respect.
In the distance I hear someone say, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
And I know they are talking about me.
And I know another life has been changed.
I look down.
Only one bite to go.
I knew this would happen.
I hate when this happens.
It always happens.
The end of the two tacos.
I should have gotten three tacos, not two tacos.
What was I thinking?
I think about what life was like 7 minutes before when the two tacos first arrived.
I was young.
I was hungry.
I had a plate full of tacos ahead of me.
And now, well, I’m older now.
I’ve seen some things.
I’ve grown in ways I never could have imagined.
I’ve lived.
I’ve loved.
Now, my plate is empty and my belly is full.
And with the last bite of my shrimp taco, that’s right, a shrimp taco a single tear begins to well in the corner of my eye.
It’s over.
It’s over.
It’s now 82 degrees outside.
I go for a walk as I begin to digest my two tacos.
One of them was a shrimp taco.
That’s right, a shrimp taco.
The sun is above me as I walk.
My shadow moves with me as I go.
In the distance I see a dog.
He sees me.
With a half smile I nod and I believe he does the same.
This has been the best day of my life.
For more of my poetry, check out my books!