We bounced through the gold satin glow, the desk
Teeming with new arrivals, then spinning
Through the door we tumbled to the plaza
To begin our quest for tapas and wine.
There a bright blue streak of lightning reshaped
The photograph into a negative,
Causing old women to scream in dismay
As the dampened skies unleashed shocking cold
And agitated pools buried our feet.
We took a shot on the next bright corner
Where we fell into step with white clerics
Solemnly leading a quivering line
Of mantillas lowered in devotion,
Thrilled by the appearance of suffering.