Poem: South End Tacos by Mark Tulin

This poem was first published in the Daily Drunk Magazine. Photo by Mark Tulin.

South End Tacos
By Mark Tulin

Here the line never ends
There’s always a laid-back dude
in a pair of flip-flops
reading the menu
like the Tao Te Ching

There’s always a hot girl in daisy dukes
who could never make up her mind,
while her muscle-bound boyfriend
buys a box-full of shrimp tacos,
heavy on the pico de gallo

There’s always a faint smell
of hashish in the air
coming from a parked car
with glassy-eyed teenagers
seeing the world in Rubik’s cubes

Next door at the batting cage,
a little kid always swings and misses,
or pops a foul into the net,
like his only chronic regret
at a pitching-speed of 30 mph

A train always passes, tooting its horn,
past the South End Taco truck
with the smell of fresh carnitas,
and a Mexican guy cleaning the tables,
with a rag he’s used since last December

There’s always a hippie bus
in a psychedelic rainbow of colors
parked illegally by the loading zone,
full of tie-dye girls with munchies,
singing Grateful Dead songs.