After Dinner with Ted at the High Noon Café by Nonnie Augustine
Cheese enchiladas and High Noon Margaritas
and our evening felt good. His arm on my waist,
we strolled around Old Town in the sweet desert cool
of an Albuquerque summer’s Saturday night.
Our knees weak from laughing, eager for each other
we left the bright square, with its crowd of turistas,
and turned the corner to my dark cobbled street.
Footloose, I stumbled in my blue high-heeled sandals.
As Ted caught and kissed me, I glanced past his shoulder
to see young Emilio standing under his porch light
in a blood-spattered shirt.
Against his thigh dangled
the glint of a knife.
He swayed from cerveza and cried “Mi hermano!”
I saw his brother, Tomás, collapsed at his feet.
From inside their casa, I heard women shriek.
I’d an impulse to help and moved toward the chaos
but Ted held me back and soon sirens grew loud.
Long hours later, we watched from the shadows
as the police took Emilio and his brother away.
Green chili and tequila tumbled inside me,
in the sad, sobered quiet of my city’s Old Town.
More art by Martha Rich here.
Recommended listening: Evaporar – Little Joy
Links of the Day: The best podcast ever! Art For Your Ear by The Jealous Curator