Taking Down the Bull
Animal Rights Poetry By Lynne Goldsmith From All-Creatures.org

Dear Matador,

What do you do with the ear?
What do you do with that horse,
one of yours used by a picador,
the horse whose ears you stuffed,
blocked the sounds from entering
with newspaper wet for crushed?

And what of the horse’s blindfold,
your keeping from sight
that prepping of the bull,
those lances driving into muscle
and back the twisting and gouging
to spill out blood it is just getting started

and the horse’s cord
vocally cut, so no one would hear the screams.
What of that horse who wanted to run,
who would have run from ring
when taunting began

when weight had already been tied
down on bull’s neck for weeks the beatings,
filed-down horns, petroleum jelly eyes,
agitation increasing without food or water
in small isolation cell, the salt, laxatives,
drugs to tranquilize, harpoon to minimize—

you can’t have the bull be too strong—

which is where the banderilleros come in,
the ones who go on stabbing and waving flags
to tire the bull to dizzy the maddening
of no stopping maniacal barbarism.

Which is where you come in
with your something to prove
sword or dagger, cutting spinal cord
or aorta is what you’re after.
Final blow the crowd happy with.

Hence, the ear you won, the ear severed
as trophy of your having the advantage,

in the way you’ll drive July bulls to sea,
The Bous a la Mar, the Toro de Jubilo,
where you’ll set horns on macabre fire.

Dear Matador,

What makes you think this all some sport?
In the end, to me, you always lose your heart.

©Lynne Goldsmith, 2020

Image from Madrid Corrida, Wikimedia.org