Friday, March 19, 2010

Nacho Hell

Okay, I'm on that food jag again. First there was the toast sonnet, then that one about cheetos, then the white chocolate one. Here's a little Mexican food oriented poem, more spicy in its tone than many.

Nacho Hell 
by Gideon Burton 
The ancient Mayas fried their mash of maize,
creating crispy strips of crunchy corn.
Upon an altar, smoking fires ablaze,
tomato and cilantro slush was born:
the Holy Salsa, hot to feed the gods,
was slathered on the chips with shouts of glee;
a taster slave would have to beat the odds
as JalapeƱos melt him to the knees.
A vat of rude Velveeta, spiced and warm,
would through a trough be splashed upon the mix.
The priestesses of munching would perform,
cavorting like a mass of colored sticks.
     Today, no take-out fetched from Taco Bell
     could match the brimstone of that nacho hell.

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - kd bug.

1 comment:

  1. Delicious. :) My favorite part:

    a taster slave would have to beat the odds
    as JalapeƱos melt him to the knees.

    I also like the image I have in my head of a Mayan priestess, dressed to the nines, lifting a giant box of Velveeta up by the ends until the vacuum lets go and the inner box falls with a thud. Then she slashes open the foil wrapper with her salsa stained machete, holds the monstrously large, wobbly orange brick high above her head (for dramatic effect) and then drops it into an altar-trough at the top of the temple stairs. Her knees would be in a deep bend and her eyes would be aggressively staring into the salivating throngs during the whole ritual.