Xiomara Martinez, the most Hispanic girl I know,

Shows me and teaches me la cultura hispano.

Her accent lilts like a rumba

With no hard turns or consonants,

Just a soft, rolling blend of sounds and

Not a hint of Johnson County, Kansas.

 

We go to Salsarita’s, our popular local cantina

Me to eat, her more to laugh at waiters

With terrible Spanish accents and bumbling mouths

That stumble and trip over rolling r’s and double l’s

There are days we order burritos del norte

Just to roll our r’s thicker than guacamole

 

So amiga, what’ll it be today?

We place our orders, two fajitas,

With a gothic college student whose shredded black wardrobe

Doesn’t quite scream quaint Mexican pueblo.

Una fajita caliente, name just rolls off the tongue

Say it with some flair. ¡caliente!

 

Senorita, your fajita

The plastic menu described this in cold, black ink

Print that cannot do a sizzling plate justice.

The onions, the peppers, the steak dios mío!

The color pops like a five alarm salsa and the scent engulfs you like

un abrazo – a hug.

 

Xiomara misses home.

Hates these blustery Kansas winters, feels like

“A toucan in Canada” she says.

The best Kansas can offer is Salsarita’s,

A menu stocked with rolling r’s, and fajitas deliciosas which give

Warm, comfortable hugs that feel like Mexico.