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2 Poems by Ronald Fields |
Fifty Cent Burritos The way they stick to the ceramic plate, Having just been birthed from the womb of The Microwave, their tortilla wrappings Clinging and tearing, spilling out fifty cent Burrito juice, soiling the plate with their Cheap impurity. The whole damn scene Makes me long for the gourmet simplicity Of a chimichanga. Or two. John and Linda came over last night, We invited them to dine with us, cheap burritos And nachos, some potato chips if they were lucky. Cheap cheese on a stale tortilla chip, off-brand soda To wash it all down. Then they wanted a margarita. I didn't know how to fix a margarita. I brought them Tequila, having diced the worm up just for them. The bastards didn't even notice, and drank him down. John and Linda thanked me for the tequila. They didn't think they'd be able to drive home, But I assured them they could. I assured them That weren't as drunk as they thought they were. I shoved them out of my apartment, watched them Stagger toward their car, watched them drive away. Then I watched the fireball shine after they drove their 99 Ford Tempo off a cliff and burned to death. Tequila has so much alcohol in it, I think. I'll bet they burned for days, poor bastards. And what did this little fiasco teach me? Not A lot. But now I know better than to ever Invite 'friends' over for burrito dinners, Cheap cola and cheaper tequila, and a date with death. Maybe John and Linda are laughing about all this right now, Sitting on a burning coal in hell with a beer in each hand. Disturbance at Two in the Morning I heard them this morning. It was two in the morning, and They were outside my second-story Window, right below it. I thought someone was beating a dog At first, its sad sluggish yelp Crying out for help. Moaning and groaning into the cold night. Oh yes. They were moaning and groaning all right. I guess the walls aren't as thick as they would like To believe. And the windows, most certainly, Are not soundproof. Two in the morning. Don't they sleep? But I guess all animals sleep at different times. I know there was a predator down there, Having lunch beneath my office window. What I wouldn't give for a flashlight. Shine it down on their naked bodies and Watch them faint with shame. College girls without pants. College boy drunk off six Zimas, Girl drunk and peeing on herself. Groaning and grunting and moaning Beneath my office window. Yes, it was a mating ritual. Intoxicate the female, seduce her in the wild, Then accidentally misplace her phone number The next day. Uh huh. Oh yeah. Baby. Yeah. I guess the walls aren't as thick as they ought to be.
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