of elderly folk, some i know,
some i don't.
the ten of us
meet up
in a Mexican restaurant
located in a building
about to be torn down.
there's a sombrero on the wall.
tin placards
of tacos
and burritos,
margaritas.
photos of old Mexico
with burros
and banditos wearing long
bands
of bandoleros.
looking for trouble
riding under movie like clouds.
i don't hear a word of what anyone
is saying,
everyone talking at the same
time and the music
being so loud.
so i just nod
and smile,
agreeing to whatever the
conversation is about.
occasionally i reach for the bean
dip and stick a chip
in, being
careful not to spill.
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