I wait in my stall for a feed
Here he comes and at last I can eat
But what do I see in his hand?
Not food but newspaper
He stuffs it in my ears.
I look up and question him
He put’s vaseline in my eyes
He has cotton wool for my nose
so I cannot breathe.
He sticks a needle in my balls
Rubs caustic stuff in my legs
I can no longer Lie down.
You think this is enough?
He drugs my food with laxatives
Locks me in a black box for two days
I am surrounded by shit … bull shit.
You think this is funny?
Then he opens the door to my stall
I am set free
I run to the light
So Happy to be out and about
Then I see you
Hundreds of you
Chasing me down the bull run
I’m tired … so tired
But still you chase me.
The Picadors pick me up when I fall
They sink their pics into my neck
They twist them till I bleed.
You think that is all?
The Matador buries his harpoon
In my aching back
It severs the artery and I fall
To my knees.
One last thrust through the heart
The red cape swirls back
The crowd roars
You think I feel no pain?
© Renee Dallow ( Hybiscus Bloom ) 7/9/2014
Bourgeoise Bloomers 