I’ve never noticed the animal heads mounted on the wall:
deer, coyote, jaguar.
Behind them, a desert mural, saguaro cactus fades into the horizon.
I wonder when we last brought Riley here,
did he see death looming beyond the decorations?
The round-faced tortilla lady cooks in a never-ending loop.
The bartender used to smile and wave.
Now, he pretends not to see me.
I order Riley’s beloved meal: a square of butter
in a rolled flour tortilla.
I eat in little boy-sized bites, like he did,
like I’m his ghost.
After enough tequila, I can see his head too, mounted next to the jaguar and deer,
fading into the sky.
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