we would park the red MG
near the cafés on the river
and walk through town to the Plaza de Toros
where yesterday small boys
practiced the art before empty seats
dreaming of becoming a famous killer of bulls
the enormous, deadly black toros
once we saw El Cordobes and Paco Camino together
the exemplars of rock and roll craziness
and classical coolness
we were on our feet
dazed, electrified with excitement and fear
watching their masterful dances of the killers art
after, we would flow with the crowd, noisy with excitement
back to the café and bars
to eat fresh calamari and drink local sherry
and talk of things now forgotten
as we watched the pasaeo , those strolling past
later we would join them
before driving home
the top down
feeling the summer Spanish air
