Like a body suffering hypothermia,
conserving heat,
sacrificing the extremities
to preserve the precious heart.
We walk in
past one tray of desiccated pastries
in yards of dusty glass case,
all the chairs up on the tables
and
a bare bulb in the ladies room,
no toilet paper.
From up stairs the sound of Muchachos de Tango
six bandoneon players,
none of them under 70
but playing like a heart attack.
In the air the extra tang of possible disaster
due to stroke or aneurysms on stage
added to the usual mix of music and bodies
foreign and local.
Like going to a bullfight.
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