Eating tacos in a converted gas station 

that’s now pumping out Mexican fare.

Listening to Willie Nelson playing in the background.

Wearing old jeans and worn boots.

It’s an easy space and time.

My lady sits across the table, smiling back at me.

She’s sending a message without words.

Dreams move aside as the moment takes center stage.

This is the purest salsa,

the finest of flavor.

It’s the taste 

of simple times,

of lasting memories

of tacos, Jan and Willie.