A good lunch spoiled

Today I lunched alone.
An enchilada was my choice.
No one would answer their phone.
At Sanchez' I found my voice.

The service was nice and speedy.
The waiter, he owned the place.
My stomach was extremely needy.
With chips I fed my face.

I almost ordered a Coke,
but water was the final selection.
This poem may be a joke,
but satiety was the chief direction.

As good Sanchez approached my table,
I bore witness the heaping plate.
Glee suppression was hardly able,
as I pondered my course's fate.

I dug in with a spray of fury,
as patrons looked on with disgust.
My vision grew fogged and blurry,
as my prey was converted to dust.

When finished, I sat back with great pleasure,
and lifted my napkin to chin.
I looked around with pure leasure,
To witness the result of my din.

Mr. Sanchez stood towel to hip,
wide eyed and doom on his face,
I wiped the last trace from my lip,
As he ushered me out of his place.

At the door I turned to explain,
that I was the victim it's true.
My manners have always caused pain,
They always got worse as I grew.

So if ever good Sanchez permits,
I'll darken his doorstep once more,
and try not to cause such regrets,
when I dine without gruesome gore.