by Rebecca Write

Created on: February 22, 2010

I am just a gringa, and an ageing one at that

So salsa picante de chile habanero is not really my thing

But on a Friday after work

I can’t do without a trip to the little Mexican restaurant

That has become my much needed refuge

The people who work here understand somehow

And they are kindhearted folks

Who would not keep an old lady

From her guilty little pleasures

I am certain that I come across as a woman

Who has suffered through pleasures

Bearing far more guilt

These things are readily understood by the staff

Of a real life mom and pop Tex-Mex joint

The girls flip their onyx ponytails

As silver hoops flash from their ears

And though their Quinceaneras were not all that long ago

It’s the miles, not the years

A young cowboy comes in for his to go order for one

He has a bit more pride than me, or dignity

But me, I sit here by myself and write

Because the crap I have to cope with at work needs to stay there

Not that my job is hard

It’s a piece of piss really

With an absentee boss

And I am an honest book keeper

But all around me in the hood are crack heads

Don’t get the wrong idea

These are nice crack heads

Trust me I know the difference

Which is what makes it so hard

You see, I know every subtle variation of degree

In those holding to a glass pipe for dear life

Having written at least one song about methamphetamines

And sung so very many

From meth to music

Oh, and I would never say a hurtful thing

About she who saved me

But that she is a gateway

For those of us leaving hell

And those young ones stumbling in

Learn more about this author, Rebecca Write.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.