When the tortilla press broke, we settled on the more awkward
two boards and a vice in the basement, more effective than three hours
in the dryer, after which they often sprang out, sprang back to life
a little fluffier, a lot warmer, and frightfully irritated.
I’ve heard of boiling them like lobsters, but the whistling,
the squealing, the screaming would cause the neighbors some alarm
and my supply of holy water is limited since the priest only visits
on the new moon (you never can be too careful).
Really, if you don’t live down the street from a smithy
or a dimensional portal and your local satellite launch
company refuses demons other than numbers 3, 4, and 8,
your most effective and efficient means of disposal remains
a cast iron, angel-approved, certified holy tortilla press
so long as you use it exclusively for squashing them out
of this dimension, not for your family’s tortillas.