May 1, 2017, Prescott-

I sat in a quiet, uncrowded taqueria, this evening.

The solemn crew of cooks and servers remained

as earnest and dedicated in their craft, as always.

Don Jefe, though, was somewhere else.

The motorcycle had been on the downhill of this road, countless times.

Its rider had gone to visit his friends, in the small town,

southwest of here, countless times.

That sunny, windy afternoon, last week,

he was taken somewhere else.

It’s not clear why she,

with both hands on the wheel of her truck,

felt it imperative to hurtle along,

pell mell, at breakneck speeds.

All that is known,

is that she over-corrected,

having realized she was in,

over her head,

on a winding road.

Her mind, it seems, had been somewhere else.

The young worker was on his way uphill,

driving into town, to put in his time.

He was a tad behind schedule,

but it wasn’t important enough,

to risk life and limb.

He was driving prudently,

and wondered why

the truck ahead of him

was taking the bends

so fast.

He saw the truck and motorcycle

collide.

He saw the rider, flying somewhere else.

The taqueria owner opened his shop,

most mornings, at seven,

and was  usually there for the closing,

twelve hours later.

His family, and a devoted crew

kept the place flowing,

building a dedicated base

of regular diners

and take-out customers.

Tonight, as I enjoyed

an enchilada-style burrito,

with a side of solemnity,

the messages of love

and gratitude

filled the shop’s windows.

Vases of flowers began to spread

along a small section

of the storefront.

Bright, multivariate,

in colour and hue.

That’s how the taqueria owner

would want it,

bringing joy out of pain,

as he watches,

from somewhere else.

Adios, Don Jayme.