Matador The bull bully!

a poem by S.zaynub Kamoonpuri, Tanzania

A fuming fierce and moving target
A wounded animal you take to no vet.

Aiming the blade into shoulder blade or beating heart
all toreadors hope to throw that decisive dart

The bully boy to score a bloodied bullseye in bullfight
O'course not for the fainthearted that gory sight

Well that counts timid me out from the bullring
Quite a fearsome scene, quite a lurid killing

It resembles the olden cockfight shows
Sadism? Masochism? With arrows or crossbows.

The carmine cape the only screen between him and the jaws of death
or should I say, the sickle-like horns of death
Oh no! What if mr.matador can never catch his breath?

For promoters a thrilling spinechilling
Spanish folk art in arena
For objectors a bloodsport they wish dead
as the myth of athena.

The Spanish might be divided about their picadors
on this sporty bloody battle between man and beast
No telling till when spectators would throng to watch those matadors
while I wonder do they on the trophy bull then feast?

Ah ban it to history
or fan it to the future
Call it cruelty yet no slaughtering is kind
Tis fair play or fair game that the raging bull's half blind!

Yet if any bloodlust instincts be satiated by these stuntsman toreros
matadors may be far better than murderers and war heroes.

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