Poem #62 of 365

Beer for breakfast,
and why not,
the stores closed too
early the evening before

so we set off on a walking
good start today.

L and B gave me a tour,
and we passed orange
trees and chickens,
puppies with crooked gaits,
as Maxwell House aromas
swirled to our nostrils
when we approached
the factory plant.

We stopped at the Reynita
panaderia to order 100
fresh pieces of bread for
our show, and L pulled down
barstools so we could
comfortably drool in unison
at the pastries behind glass.

As we munched on conchas
and tri-colored cookies, we
continued our hike in search
of a drink. The Country Club
was the oasis that B led us to,
and i could hardly believe that
the building was not yet condemned.

We laughed over the voice of
John Fogerty and other jukebox
throwbacks, as we munched
on french fries and burgers to
salt our Modelos. Especial, so special.

I told them that this weekday
cantina moment rivaled the
delectable memory of visiting
a Chicano lounge up in Denver
during play-offs season,

where the Budweisers were cheap
and the first styrofoam bowl
of menudo was delivered
to each table
on the house.


(recuerdos de un Friday well-spent with friends Liana and Bryan in H-town's 2nd Ward)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez