Tortillas must get a workout, holding
the idea of the food I eat, coming
from somewhere nearby, been

known to eat a full burrito
that and chips,
pronounce guac & love responsibly

or you could have co-ed chicken,
or you could have avocados
when they grow up

to be in tight confining pens, like
chips that can smell carnitas—
pigs and cows and chickens

who are allowed
tomatillo-green salsa,
locally grown lovers,

magicians or crane operators,
a B finely tuned.
I'm not addicted I just go

naturally: there are sixty-some
thousand flavour combinations and
we can talk about our feelings,

the little cylinder, disclose
the presence in our food.
Naturally-raised serious knife

skills are to ensure
a perfect square.
Maybe if there

were more, there would
be less, or you could have
barbacoa. We believe

that small comes in many
sizes, connected
is everything and a full

scoop of meat is extra.
To freely root and roam
in visual or hearing range

of pigs and cows
and chickens, to source
the very best and to avoid

exaggeration, there
are Bs and then
there are Burritos.

Mixing is not just
a science it's worth a shot,
it's fall-off-the-bone,

it's no to antibiotics
in the word burrito.
I'm not addicted, just

marinated overnight.
It's mild but
it's not tame.