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m. david lopez

palabritas envueltas ¡provecho!

(recojelas del plato al caer)


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.

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