A fine merchant, Jorge Padilla
made his fortune in bootleg vanilla,
betrothed to the so sweet Cecilia
the toast of their town, La Cuchilla.
He was fond of honeyed sopapilla,
indulged many times la quesadilla,
muy bueno, the beer from Tecate,
expanded his belt-size, la fatte.
while the lissome and lovely Cecilia
sipped tequila midst flowering lobelia.
dallied oft with a gay caballero,
dashing sight in his silvered sombrero.
She has gone now to Mexico City,
her casa adorned, mighty pretty.
Jorge gone now, too, six feet under
only bones, decayed flesh all asunder.
A response to a challenge,
a poem about sopapilla