Burrito Bigger than a Wrecking Ball
by Tom Kelly
bigger than a silo! bigger than a submarine! bigger than a skyscraper!
white hyper-masculine Mariachi attendants chant without interruption
as I鈥檓 divested of dungarees, dunked in a wooden wash bucket bubbling
beyond the lip, and scrubbed like an oily pelican with industrial loofahs.
My objections鈥揼luten-free, anti-double dip, lactose intolerant Irish American鈥�
stifled by a mustachioed gavel-banger seated on a high dive who rattles
every offense since preschool鈥揷rumb collector, leftover waster, kitten hater,
farter in the produce section without purchase of snap peas鈥揳nd before
I can dispute my affair with a pregnant meteorologist for her Showtime
subscription, I鈥檓 sentenced to a burlap suit. I鈥檓 knocked in kneeling position,
carted on a wheelbarrow to mile-long lines of other burlap heathens
and鈥揻ollowing foam noodle floggings鈥揾anded a shrink wrapped
bowl with odes to black bean, pepper jack, holy guacamole, and sacred
cilantro of this colossal burrito hoisted high on pulleys which spills
its sauce on and for all who pass beneath in pursuit of atonement.
Though the tortilla looks like a plush pi脙卤ata from this distance,
I鈥檓 flanked by the Jumbotron Livefeed鈥檚 broadcast: a molten pillar
quakes and steams belligerent as a bull鈥檚 mouth to messages鈥�
before partaking, one must chant; so I chant mystical redemption songs
for my manufactured guilt, knees dragged through salsa and chips.