By Jennifer R. Lloyd
To the man with the charcoal grill
held up by three flammable, wooden legs,
and so are your burgers.
To the slow. ass. drivers.
who have no place to be and, certainly, no turn signals,
for slowing so many rolls.
To the stray dogs,
that skitter into traffic in mangy packs,
for flaunting your freedom.
To the tacos,
egg and bacon, or bean and cheese,
for helping everyone make superb choices.
To the waitresses,
who helpfully take my orders in English when my Spanish fails,
for the reminder to work hard and try even harder.
To the pecan and loquat trees,
that serve their fruit faithfully each year,
Don’t mind me eating your wares.
To the first-gen college students,
studying theology or engineering or finance,
for forging a path where none lay.
If you look closely,
you’ll see wonders like these the world over.
Jennifer R. Lloyd is a former journalist and longtime logophile. No longer churning words into newsprint on the daily, she sweats out the demons in South Texas or purges them onto the page. In her spare time, she accumulates college degrees and explores poetry and fiction.
Image: Digital photo by the author, San Antonio, Texas, July 2019