POESIA AL PASTOR
m. david lopez
palabritas envueltas ¡provecho!
(recojelas del plato al caer)
saborealas
disfruta estos versos
(yo te acompaño de lejos)
este poema es un taco
hecho por mano
deshecho por ti
(un regalito, un bocadillo)
chingate uno - ¡o diez!
este poem is a taco
handmade, imperfect
hold it tight and scoop the fallen pieces
some little words scribbled on a greasy napkin
at the end of a Day. Ceasefire.
¡Vamos a los tacos! It's enough to stop any war
string lights halo over clouds of sizzling meats
las aguas brillan in their see-through jars
sweating shiny beads around their glass rings
orders taken slowly and yet hurriedly called out
This poem is a taco
crisp edge meaty middle
bulging with intentions but
never enough guac
This poem is a taco
and like masa, formed by blurry hands
finished by heat
my little words are wrapped and then collapsed
in the soft warm act of chew
This poem, a taco
has two bites left
Decide: savor in two bitty bites, or
kill it in one?
Order more - begin again
There is no problem
in this whole world
that can't be solved
by a taco. Or two.
M. David Lopez teaches English at a local elementary school in the San Fernando Valley north of Los Angeles. His taco orders consist of asada, but have lately evolved to al pastor and vampiros (cheese and chicken on a toasty tortilla). He hates writing about himself in the third person, but thus is the constraint of the bio genre. He hopes to share more of his poems and expand to such topics as desserts, breakfasts and pan dulce.