Hererra's

On any day with my fair friend
In search of aliment’ry ease
Down Maple Ave our way we wend
The slope to CCU we grease.

In all the world there is no place
By any of the standard measures
Where I’d rather stuff my face
With Latin gastronomic pleasures.

With salsa made from habanero
Chips that glisten crisp and warm
To these things I say, "Yo quiero!"
And maintain my rotund form.

I’ll have the spinach quesadillas
With guacamole, sour cream
And some fresh, hot corn tortillas
Add to this gustatory dream.

I clean my plate and wipe my chin
And push away completely sated
Tight without and full within
My sweet tooth only unabated.

I waddle to the checkout stand
My corpulent form upon which leans
(Dave gets the tab) extend my hand
For dos RJ’s pecan pralines!