Ode to a Kebab

After dancing, jumping, singing comes 

meat, salad, garlic mayo. 

In a box, in a wrap, 

I get a kebab. 

Ode on a Grecian Kebab - Illustration by Romina Treviño

After crawling through pubs, 

running through streets, 

we drink as much as we can, 

we run towards the van. 

Sometimes I share, 

most times my own I devour, 

but when we’re out together, 

there’s simply nothing better. 

The only thing better than 

the ritual of the kebab, 

is ending the night not just with eating, 

but with me in your arms sleeping. 

How peculiar it is then the memory 

of you throwing the kebab at the tv 

followed by tears dropping from our cheeks, 

and my chin and mouth 

and I can’t remember how 

we got to this point. 

Now I still get meat, salad, garlic mayo, 

even chips sometimes. 

Only I avoid that night’s van. 

Now there’s nothing better than a kebab.