Voyage to Margerita-ville
Due to incredible clumsiness,
a near total lack of taste
and wildly improbable poor fortune,
combined with an extreme hunger that
obviously had rendered our judgment suspect,
we haplessly stumbled into
the mexican restaurant that time forgot.
Almost before we know it,
After a bare three-quarters of an hour,
The hostess-drone reluctantly confesses,
that all tables in the place are clean and empty,
and there is no longer any excuse to keep us waiting.
When we reach our table a young waiter claims to be
The captain on our voyage to Margarita-ville,
We demur without snickering,
wondering if he can handle an order for iced tea instead.
From the ceiling, a guy on the Mariachi Muzak,
whines incessantly about his corazon.
For a moment, I am overcome with depression,
as I ponder the critical shortage of white face paint,
caused by the vast plethora of bozos in this vicinity.
Then you reach for my hand across the table,
and I feel your fingers against mine, soft and warm,
and nothing else matters.
Posted for Jann in honor of our 19th Wedding Anniversary. Way to hang in there, kitten! :)
