Chipotle Poem

I hate Chipotle.

Not because it’s not good, but because it’s not great and that’s reason enough

At least to me

But this boy I loved in college loved it and I know what you’re thinking

She only writes about boys

But let me tell you up front this is not about him

This is about them.

This is about the overpriced ant piles of mild “Mexican” food, the oxymoron I’ve poured over for far too many years and them who let them get away with it and I’m here to use the big “h” word because I’m no longer afraid of the unpopular opinion, I’m not afraid of a little good taste. 

My mom always said I’m hot-headed and I use strong language 

But my brother thinks I’m cold and weak from losing in our wrestles 

One day I’ll tell him, you better respect me or I’ll take you to Chipotle

He’ll understand if I’ve taken to poems about hating food then I’m more than serious

On camping trips, that boy I loved in college would scream at me from a Honda’s backseat to turn into the fast-casual establishment he knew that I loathed 

Due to both fast and casual alluding to a relationship I told him I didn’t want 

So I’d scream back and he’d feel victorious for crawling under my skin beautifully unnoticed

And my hatred would grow deeper. 

I hate Chipotle because this world has enough carbon copies and not enough people being really freaking weird

I hate Chipotle because there’s one near my office and I’m tired of hearing coworkers think they know about queso 

I hate it because I don’t hate many things and if I’m going to hate something it’s going to be something I can metaphorically compare to the boy I loved in college

But I have to be honest if that boy ever asked me to go to Chipotle with him again

I’d look at him and at our unresolved hate-to-love past of a friendship and say,

“I would do anything for you.”