Tuesday, November 2, 1999

Chips and Salsa

As I devour
chips and salsa
I think of pleasures past
in a Spanish sort of way
and recall this morning
as I drove my car
through a hole in
the clouds,
and as my wheels touched that
small sun-soaked bit of
blessed (two syllables)
freeway I felt like the proverbial camel
who finally walks through
the eye of the needle
as I thread myself
through your life
and my life
and the lives of all I know
and love
and hate
and despise
and love again,
and there’s hardly any chicken
in this burrito
but that’s okay, I should have ordered
the veggie


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