We met that day 
when you rang our doorbell
and asked if we needed
someone to mow our lawn.
You, an older Mexican man, fifty-five
And me, a mother in my late thirties.

Who knew then you and your nephews 
would work for us for fifteen years?
Doing our lawn every other week
Scraping and painting our house
Working inside on room after room

Your spry body, 
fell off our roof and
rather than going splat 
"like one tomato"
You rolled and leapt back up

Your family back in Mexico
receiving the money 
you routinely sent
Your nephews always with you 
to lend a hand.

"I have one problem" you often said
Just before proposing a new project
To keep your little crew working
That problem inevitably 
centered around needing money
to repair your old truck.

You had an infectious laugh
A go-getter's attitude
A wicked sense of humor
You said to my sometimes 
short-tempered husband,
"For just a little more money,
you can yell at me all day."

You are still going strong.
Late-80s now and full of mischief
I admire your spunk,
Your aliveness, 
Your drive to move forward every day.

We relocated to another state
the only reason our relationship ended
But your memory is firmly planted 
in my heart
Salvadore, a proud sprite of a man, 
with a zeal for living.