MATADOR
I haven't yet met the Matador, nor the bull.
Both of them were pointed out to me, quickly,
behind the gated pen - one quite far off from
the other. They really should have 'nothing to do
with each other', I was told, 'until their very first
meeting in the ring'. Ole to that, I suppose.
-
I know it's been much like that with my own
life too. Waiting in the anterooms of work and
effort, just until something vibrant draws me out.
Where I then am the bloodied? Or the bloodier?
I don't really often know. And even if it makes a
difference, it would seem the same ratty crowd
starts its inane chanting. Either way, I'm lost.
-
I was watching a botanist go on about roses and orchids.
Every other word out of his mouth was 'splendor' or
'beauty', 'display' or 'charm'. He touched each blossom,
as a visual example, in his very precise way. I wished
I could have been him, just for a moment or two.
Charm, grace, or beauty. It all would work for me.
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