A burrito bowl for Hillary Clinton.. “What would you like?” Chipotle Man asks. “A burrito bowl,” Hillary Clinton says.
Just a burrito bowl. A recycled cardboard boat of rice, beans, chicken, and salsas. This is a lunch, something not too big or not too small. It is sustainable. The chickens didn’t die in vain. It died for a burrito bowl. Fiona Apple even enjoys.
Behind sunglasses, “A burrito bowl.” she coos. She stood in line. She ordered the food. She carried the bowl. A blackberry Izze? That can come along too.
“What was that?” one asks.
“I got the bowls, Huma.”
She walks with the bowls, assertively, with direction. “A burrito bowl,” the cashier echoes back. No guacamole, yes to a soda, and not any extra “business.” Just as every day as any American. I eat Chipotle at least once a week. I bite into a patriotic burrito whenever I am too lazy too cook.
“A burrito bowl,” she sits down. She eats. Some people take photos. “I want to be that champion.” A fighter prepares. The lunch of a champion. A burrito bowl for Hillary Clinton.