Poem: Taco Tuesday


To smell a person’s odor on a Monday

when there’s no law that says you have to take a shower,

not even after a few days.

If the same person stinks on Wednesday,

the one you stood behind while waiting in line,

it isn’t good to complain.

Even if it was a Friday,

she still wouldn’t care to use deodorant under her pits,

cleanly shaven or not.

Immune to the dirty looks,

her nastiness floats among the people waiting,

spreads as she moves forward and lingers as she stops.

She remains aloof,

this interference with people’s hunger is not right,

tacos should be eaten on any day of the week.


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