Tuesday, April 17, 2012

The Color Blind Bull

He doesn’t see everything in the world.

Only part of it,

It is simpler for him.

Fewer shades

Of color.

He sees the world through

Lewis Hine’s lens.

Black and White.

His ailment goes unnoticed.

All the crowd wants is a show.

They shout and cheer until their throats are sore.

What do they care anyway?

It should be his palace; He should be comfortable there.

He’s more of a Ferdinand.

Would rather sit lying in the wildflowers,

Then be in the arena.

Where the ground is covered in thick dust.

And there is no peace and quiet.

The matadors don’t understand.

Why he doesn’t respond to the color






And Raspberry.

They’ve tried them all

To no avail.

He doesn’t understand why the crowd

Jeers and boos.

The other bulls do.

The tease him

A simple “Kick me” sign would do

But no

Bloody scratches

Made by horns

Line his side.


It’s always the same

The Matador reluctantly

Drops the red cape

He looks half asleep

The crowd boos.

He is led away.

He has

No Wins

No Losses

Just 54 ties.

It is no life for a colorblind bull.

1 comment:

  1. excellent poem. so glad you had the colorblind bull idea! All of this is written so well, I love the part about no wins, no losses, just 54 ties. awesome. ^^