We walked the local auction
grounds on weekends with
a taste of teenage freedom,
setting up shop for a fundraiser,

the high school pep band
assembled to play some rousing
’70s hits—oh, that lower brass
opening of “25 or 6 to 4,” trumpets
joining five bars in, drummers
rocking out on an improvised
trap set.

In between sets, high on hormones
and crunchy ground beef tacos
dusted with parmesan cradled
in greasy paper, we’d happily
stand in line for this dollar
culinary masterpiece

born only four years before
we were, dubbed by its creator
an American taco, which Jim sold
out of a small trailer in Lake Tahoe
where few folks in town had
heard of such a delicacy.

A half century later, in our city
23 miles from my hometown,
my fella loves him some Jimboy’s,
and on occasion I indulge—mostly
to transport myself with the first crunch
of that too-hot taco, parmesan dusting
my cheeks,

back to my beginnings as a budding
writer, the girl pep band director
fond of a song with obscure lyrics
that turned out to be about someone
writing deep into the night—

waiting for the break of day,
searching for something to say…—

a place I sometimes still find
myself, looking for words
at 25 or 26 minutes to 4 a.m.,
wondering how much I can take.
And oh, yes, should I try to do
some more?

•••

With thanks to Robert Lamm, who wrote it in 1969, and Peter Cetera, who sang it, and the band Chicago for the song’s stunning guitar riff, guitar solo and amazing horn section parts… and my Oakmont High School pep band friends playing their hearts out. Who cared if we couldn’t make head nor tail of the lyrics? We had the music and the tacos…

•••

If you’d like to hear the more seasoned version of Chicago play “25 or 6 to 4” in 2016 with the surviving members of the band when they were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, give this a look (it still rocks!).