Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

By Donovan Baldwin

The bulls in the pen were big black beasts
White foam lathered round their lips,
Their eyes holding a dark, deep knowledge,
Of what would soon occur...but, didn't care.

The horses were afraid before they ever entered.
Perhaps thwy smelled the old blood, fear, and death.
They were ancient, slatternly things and, in some way knew,
That horses didn't live long in this, their new profession.

The men talked and joked as though they didn't care,
But, their squinty eyes flicked from this to that.
Sometimes, one would walk off to be alone,
With whatever god he felt might owe him a favor.

The Sun burned both "sun" and "shade" sides of the arena,
Though tickets for "shade" cost more,
It didn't really matter to bulls, and horses, and men...
The bulls died, horses cried, and the men won.

Four bulls died that afternoon, but, one, at least, managed
To rip a matador's leg open, and toss him over the wall.
Afterwards, the men and I sat in real shade, drinking cold cerveza,
The horses got water and oats, but, the bulls had nothing. ----- If you enjoyed this poem by Donovan Baldwin, you maight also enjoy his essay, Ignorance And Epiphany.

Labels: bullfight, donovan baldwin, Mexico, poem, poetry