Home > Poetry > Tor-til-ah


I pick up the package of flour tortillas,

think about making myself a quesadilla,

and I remember how you said the word tor-til-ah,

and how I would correct you,

with a Trebeck-esque pompous flair,

I marvel at what a pompous little ass I was.

I’ve had plenty of authentic mexican food since then,

and I don’t know if there’s such a thing as Bama-Mex,

but your shredded beef chimichangas were damn good,

no matter what you call them.

When you use an ingredient to make something taste that good,

you’ve earned the right to call it whatever you want.

Categories: Poetry
  1. July 23, 2010 at 5:54 am

    Well, I love the first five lines of this, and then it feels kind of disjointed for me. Maybe because I wasn’t expecting it to end this way. The first five lines feel like a different poem from the last seven. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t like the way this ends. It’s not what you’re saying that bothers me so much, just the wording.

    My grandma said “tor-til-ah” too. And, it used to drive me crazy as well. Now I miss it. šŸ™‚

  2. July 23, 2010 at 5:56 am

    Totally mailed it in after I got stuck, you called it. Maybe I’ll revisit this later.

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