Fried Chicken and Queso

The smell of freshly fried chips

Fills the room as I walk through the door

As the soda machine slowly drips.

 

The toddler drops his taco on the floor

As I carefully select what tacos I desire,

With all the action happening there is no bore

 

Such as the grill being lit by the fire

And the chicken strip getting a bit crispy

By the sizzling grease of the frier.

 

All the frat boys walk in a little tipsy

Looking to resolve their post-party cravings

but all of these sounds don't phase me

 

Because the only thing I'm thinking

Is how I'm going to attack this massive

Fried chicken and queso dripping

 

Taco that is an Austin native.

I guide the taco to my mouth with finesse

Probably looking super unattractive

 

But that warm, savory taste truly is the best

So I begin to lick off the rest of the queso

Then I say, my face still a mess,

 

Wow, that really is a “damn good taco”

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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