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The Bull

by Johanna May

See how livid, the muscles
see how its sweat steam with power
glossy with rage
dart scarred dark blooded
all furious sinews.
adamant to the hopeless bleat
it can after all, it is still cousin
to the lamb,
wed to the grass,
bovine if not at war
from the constant wounding
of a two-legged world.
What does it fight for?
The answer is stretched out
blindly staring at the applause:
pure…clear…to the last breath
it gets to keep a cow-eyed death.


Posted on 01/07/2013
Copyright © 2023 Johanna May

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Timothy Burns on 01/07/13 at 07:52 PM

I would take this poem out for a nice dinner if I could.

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