“Mom, give me a noun….” Ava said.
“OK, taco.”
“Taco?”
“Taco truck.”

She sits at the large table, a small girl, a pad of paper and a pencil.

Taco Truck by Ava Wipff

I’m behind a taco truck.
I tasted a taco, but they really suck.
Too cheesy, too small, too bad.
The thought of a bad taco makes me sad.
A huff and puff of black smoke comes.
My stomach is queasy, and I can’t find my Tums.
I read the sign, it’s called “Taco Train.”
Well, it should be called Taco Pain.

May 2013