Monday: routinely the weekday in question
fills me with loathing and foul indigestion.
But not every Monday is fit for evasion--
especially not when she's in the equation.
Beneath a picture of old Pancho Villa
I supped on a bowl of sopa de tortilla,
and watched as she ate underneath quite a lotta
pictures of Emiliano Zapata--
And I felt that moment we were made for each other.
The thought bore a gasp that I managed to smother
The thought bore a gasp that I managed to smother
As the connection pricked like an errant mosquito;
We both had ordered the vegetarian burrito.
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