We sat in that Mexican place
Just off Valley
With the orange shutters
You know...
Where the pigs used to fly
The Serb, his mother, and I
The waitress with her perky breasts
Chatted up table after table
"Excuse me, Miss..."
A woman called from her table
"I was supposed to have beans, not rice"
You, lady, deserve a fucking poem
Here it is
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