Tamale and tamale and tamale

Creep through my innards like plaster dust

Greasy fajitas and quesadillas

To the last rutted inch of my shrieking guts;

It surges forward – where? – unto eternity I swear.

Thus forsweareth I from ever eating

More chips and salsa

Mole enchilada

I keep repeating:

It is a menu I know so well – Taqueria Diarrhea

Straight from hell.

Full of tasty dishes

Not now the Kosher knishes

Please hold the Pico de Gallo

10% off on Cinco de Mayo

Followed by cheap delicious

Churros and flan

After which I feel it

Cannot conceal it

Gurgling deep below my belt

A feeling alas I know so well

Need more than suertes, señores:

More like Dia de los Muertos.