taco taurus

when hungry we'd shout
"taco, taco, taco!"
pretending to savor
a meaty, crunchy delight

gangly teenage legs twirlling
over the edge of the couch
flip-flops and painted toenails
beat a path to the taurus

drunk on youth and
nothing else except
the lawless excitment
of being out past midnight

to wausau, to taco bell
and then to yellow banks park
the moonlight shimmering down
on the lugubrious river

a feast on the playground
but before the caramel
of the empanadas could cool
flashing red, blue

"don't you kids have homes?"
and we laughed, fleeing
tumbling into my taurus
hightailing it home

chanting,
"Taco, taco, taco!
Don't you have any home?"