Tamales

Dad has on his bandana
Mom has on her gloves
I’m standing in between wanting to
Get into the thick of it
Tia Irene takes up the rear
The raggle-taggle assembly line would no doubt impress
Henry Ford himself.
Dad smears masa onto the corn husks
And hands them off to mom
Who fills them carefully
With cheese and green chile or beef in red chile
Then folds them deftly
Mama’s Mexican origami--
Tia Irene swaddles each
In virgin white wax paper
Right out of the dark blue box
I stack each one and soon I have a fortress of tamales
Stacked and waiting to be steamed
Waiting to be savored
I drool a little after lifting the lid
Of the steamer.
Mama smacks my hand and reminds me
That these tamales are
Waiting to be sold.