Mexican Hotdogs Poem by Juan Olivarez

Growing up in our family
Was fun for our kids.
my wife and I
Had six children
Five boys, and Maria.
How do you handle the
Problem of Maria?
That thankfully
Is another story

The first three
Johnny, Diego, and JJ
Loved wrestling
And living ten miles
From the border
Lucha libre was available
Wednesday and sunday matinees.

The boys got to meet
Wrestlers from all over the world.
Japan, China, Peru, Argentina,
Italy, and Europe, in general.
Lucha Libre was
And I still believe is
The best wrestling on Earth.

The boys would always get
Children versions
Of the wrestlers masks
And even ventured into
The ring
Before the matches.

Then for two hours
They would scream
Their heads off yelling
For the good guys
Mil Mascaras, El Solitario,
Dr. Wagner and Angel Blanco.

But they loved all
The wrestlers
Good and bad guys
Even though in Mexico
The bad guys
Really were
BAD GUYS.

The best part
Of the night was
When the matches ended
And we left
La Arena Coliseo starving
Looking for the hotdog vendors.

Mexican hotdogs are
Like nothing you
Have ever tasted in
Your life
The dogs and buns
Are generally smaller
But with a superior taste.

Mexican hotdogs are made
With tomatoes, onions,
Cilantro and lime.
Throw in some mayonnaise
And some hot sauce
And the kids thought
They were in heaven.

They talked it up
So much everybody at home
Decided to come along
The next time
Just for the hotdogs.

On subsequent visits
We would go find the same vendor
And would practically
Buy out his inventory of dogs
And send him home happy.

After that
He would always
Look out for us after
Lucha Libre
When he would see us
He would immediately
Start putting hotdogs together
With a big toothy grin
On his face.

Now I think back
And the nostalgia overwhelms me.
But the sadness is greater.
Mexico has degenerated
Into terribly violent
Drug wars.
And is no longer safe
To visit.

5/24/14 Alton Texas