Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Bull Riders

The bull always wins.
The bull will throw you.
Do bulls want riders?
Or are they just straining for the long grass?
Would cowboys still ride, if they could choose?

In the ring,
wearing fancy chaps and bravado,
what’s in the heart
that needs this ride
and not another?
Do you love the bulls?

You take the horns - no metaphor.
You hurt no one but yourself.
Not even the bull,
who leaps
when you hit the dirt fast and hard
when you come up bruised, scrambling for the fence.
The bull owns the ring,
for a moment.

You were strong
you fought hard
you took the fall
you will ride again
once that arm heals.

This will never heal.
There are too many fences.
You and that bull
push those fences down.
The bull knows it. You know it.
The fences come down a little
every time you ride.
You and the bull.
No fences.
No struggle.
You ride toward that.
The bull and you.
Riding hard
real hard.

1 comment:


Interesting poem.

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Scott L. Felton.