The beauty of this situation-- as opposed to something more formal-- being that you can write about anything, really. Including moments of pure animal satisfaction which the New Yorker, for example, could give less than half a shit about :)...
... written at Senor Fish:
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They were busy--
and I ran out of articles,
long before the food came.
So, I sat, stuck
under the tree in the courtyard
watching the sun soften
through pale green leaves,
snatches of sky, unlit lanterns
shadows melting into cement,
and when the tacos came
the tortillas were warm.
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