Taco Night
Seven o’clock
is coming around;
meanwhile, my stomach
continues to growl.
It needs some food,
and needs it fast!
Or else I simply
may not last!
So trudge upstairs
toward the smell
of a freshly cooked
taco shell.
It’s taco night.
My sis comes in
with stomp and scowl,
and thus, we have
tomatoes now.
She picks them fresh
from our back yard,
a job she’d rather
disregard,
but still she’s forced
to pick those things.
I’m glad for the
reward it brings.
It’s taco night.
We all sit down
when things are chopped.
Before we eat,
we all must stop
and bow our heads
and thank the Lord
for all the blessings,
room and board.
And even though
the smell is strong,
my stomach aches,
the wait is long…
It’s taco night.
Amen.
Yum.
