Burrito Brawl

Lowell Jaeger

Only one left.  That’s what someone heard.
Last of its
flavor.  Steaming on foil
beneath heat lamps
next to the salad bar.

Two boys grab,
neither bulldog willing
to give it up, let
go.  Or … the bigger boy
farther back in line
shouts dibs

and the other boy
ahead in line
snatches it
anyway.  We’ve heard
both versions and
more:

No burrito from the
start.  One boy
squirting catsup on
his fries
splashes another
boy’s shirt.

The latter
commandeers a squirt bottle
of his own and
sprays the former,
both tracking tomato
gore

into the campus
parking lot to fistfight
till somebody calls
the cops.
One witness or
another,

even the cops can’t
sort it through.
Big mess on the
snow.  Looks like blood.
But it’s
catsup.  Or burrito. No,

no burritos on Mondays.   Enchiladas.
It’s been gray skies
and ice for weeks on end.
Must be enchilada
sauce.

Gets on your nerves,
sleet and relentless
snow.   No,
no burritos on
Monday.  Enchiladas.

We’ve all been
cooped up too long, says
someone.  And someone else says,
They don’t even
serve fries, do they?

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