So I write, I write and I write.
I like to write.
I like to write so I write.
There is no purpose
There is no expenditure
There is no outcome
There is nothing other
than me writing.
I'm in a box now, writing
but I'm freaking out a bit
I never knew it would be like this.
I don't know what to write anymore
I'm in a box, in a box.
I've been in this box all this time.
I guess I should have known.
There was never anyway I could
write myself out of this box.
All this time I thought I could,
if only I was given half a chance.
But I was only lying to myself,
or is it a lie, and I am fighting
back with the only thing that
makes any sense, the only
endowment, the whole enchilada
yes, this big writing lying thing
is virtue that I thought I held
but never did, for it was me
And I was it.
“It’s a pickle, Puss,” her husband proposes.
“Is it sweet?” she probes.
“It’s a dill, Darling. Just what the doctor ordered.”
The doctor’s face, like vinegar. The nurse didn’t care
for pickles at all. She thought the pickle was a prop.
“No,” the doctor said, “It is a proper pickle and delicious,
though I’ve not tried it.” The nurse just stared
at the newest addition to the pickling jar. It’s junior size,
a miniature snack, at best. It won’t get any bigger.
“Get me a Gherkin!” the doctor yells, “Stat!”
“That’s not a pickle!” yells the wife,
“That’s not a craving. It’s a baby cucumber.”
“Well, I’ll be pickled!” the doctor laughs.
“What a quack!” whispers the husband to his wife.
To the nurse, “Get my wife a snack.”
The nurse brings in the prized pickle and the wife snatches
the giant jolly green, “Now, this will do quite nicely.”
And the couple lived happily ever after, unencumbered,
having the whole enchilada, well the prickly pickle, dear.
8/27/2022
Contest: It's A Pickle Party
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Happy Thanksgiving; you hungry fool.
The skin on my bird is there for you.
The basted on butter and glisten for you.
That succulent flavor that sucks for you.
The Whole enchilada of soaks for you.
A roasted out pan of crust to view.
The happy black feeling that's burnt for you.
That slowly cooked bird I braised for you.
What lovely smoked flavor - the taste for you.
The charcoal based hunger - of thanks for you.
That Happy Thanksgiving I'll give to you.
The happiest day for joining two.
Who am I, where am I from
I’m a girl who ancestors are from Mexico, Puerto Rico, and Panama
See me I don’t know the whole enchilada
My zodiac sign has to do with Aqua
I walk up to you and say, “ Hola amigo, como esta”
You reply to me and say,” Muy bien y tu.”
I say, “Bien mucho gracias.”
I can’t really have a conversation in Espanol
Because I only know boquito
Como te llamas, do you know mine
Me llamas est Preciosa
Me gusta el color Amarillo
You can walk up to me and bring out the mexican in me
Bring out the rice and beans
The whole encilada
Bring out the de le manana
I’ll get back to ya
If I saw you in Puerto Rico I would say
Bueno? Que traes or oye tocayo
I will introduce you to my traditional food
Burritos
Enchiladas
Bolillos
Carne abada
You bring out the Mexican in me
i swear to to tell the truth, the whole enchilada, nothing but it
dont short change yourself cause youre living on a budget
turning green, hulking out, and slippin superheros cryptonite
narrowing insight cause youd rather fight than try to take flight
the right two cents is worth more than a fortune or goodluck
shine longer than days in june, youre someones sunshine, chin up
flippin it neutral to hot, making a cycle with lightbulbs, spreadin love tenfold
hate tends to fold, tho hearts eventually all turn cold, meanies suck
while nice people swallow, opposite of hollow, prophesies will follow
there is always tomorrow, a new day, beauty always on the cusp
i live life with a lust, thirst never being drowned, this idea profound
ringing in my ears louder than a guns sound
s/he was a dreamer
resting in the practical arms of a lover who
stayed safe &
happy within the context of which
s/he had been born into---
no cards switched on the table
no getting up to take a piss during the game &
the hand dealt
was the only hand that mattered,
whilst the big dreams of the other lover
spewing from her/his mouth
filled the room with the kind of thoughts that can put out the
fire---
for what is present is never enough for the dreamer &
when the dreamer starts to swim around in the cocktail of
“love,”
their heads can come really really close to
exploding,
wanting the whole enchilada
(whatever the **** that is),
wanting a hollywood romantic comedy
with a happy ending that would bring sappy tears to the eyes of
a homicidal maniac
waiting in the wings to take office
with a finger on the button &
the middle on the other hand
flipped up at the surrounding world---
so the practical lover counts the days
because the timer has only a few left before it dings &
this is all over,
since you just can’t satisfy the
unsatisfiable.
Bestowal with the whole enchilada
eliminates having to choose
between oatmeal
and jalapenos.
Cinco de mayo,
Fourth of July-o,
The whole enchilada will do.
Pie in the sky-o,
Cleveland Ohio,
Ciudad Mexico, too.