Señora Garza

“Señora Garza!”
He screeched back into the kitchen
With his gaze set fast on the television.
And the mute Señora Garza shuffled out
Wrinkles intact
Her withered hands moulded through countless years
And meal preparation.
She smiled a modest smile
Spotted and patched with gaps
And though her body wilted
Her vitality was sound.
And let me tell you
That I’ve never had a burrito
That fucking big
Or that fucking good
For the rest of my life.
If not for Señora Garza
I’d probably think twice;
Go round the corner
Where they hire models
To make half-assed meals,
And I could pretend.

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