A Taco Poem That Answers the Meaning of Life

[dropcap size=big]T[/dropcap]empt me with tacos—
You can have your queso
birria-style if you must,
nothing can quench my lust
for slow-simmered meat—
Give me guisado, carne
stewed, extra sauce on top—
Pork pulled into strips
crispy as carnitas, or soft
and loose like suadero—
I’ll take mine adobado,
the pollo un poco picante—
Grill and fill my tortilla
with fish a la plancha or
pescado frito. Puff up
the tortilla or make mine
crunchy shell and let’s go
TexMex—it all makes me miss
familia, instead I can ask
for another taste to take me

to the calle where I can eat 

my fill as the trompo still turns
and we can make any excuse
for uno mas por favor,
Sigue! The plate of cabrito
passed at the table, a last
meal with Tío, his chiste ready.
First taste of cesos, last of lengua 

which really was Papi’s favorite
and what is a border 

between cielo and tierra
if not an invisible wall and
what is a taco if not the best
of life cooked down, eaten 

in three bites, a catalog of 

never-long-enough meals

that only need a little lime, 

cilantro, salsa, the bite of onion 

that can move us to happy tears.