Concourse K Food Court
Mothers and
daughters
wear polyester
dresses
of whatever pattern
and color
they could get
aprons secure their
waists
cook on wood fires
and propane camping
stoves
in their houses
or prepare on a
grill
constructed from
scrapped metal
before hungry
customers.
Corn tortillas
with
undistinguishable lean cuts
of a roasted meat,
shredded raw cabbage
red sauce dabs,
serve on brown paper
under the sun on
bare Guatemala ground
whose dust whirls
with a slight stir
where drivers of
old school buses
painted bright red
and blue
wait for passengers
10 kilometers east of El Salvador.
While in O’Hare
five Hispanic women
middle aged and
younger
wear blue scrubs
uniforms of
uneducated laborers
only one eats beans
and rice
out of a Tupperware
container
the others bite
into Big Macs
and crunch crisp
potato sticks
fried in partially
hydrogenated oils
melted like their
culture.
