Red Ball Runs the Bull
by Robin B. Lipinski
Nose tossing, turning, blowing, anger showing.
Nice women smiling, hiding anger below, no sighing.
Back-and-forth the red ball shows, ping test annoying.
Notice the mood of the crowd?
Door of wood, opening, crowd roaring.
Ages past, he comes, his horns showing.
Look mother, blood, it is showing.
Back-and-forth the red ball shows, balance of life, tilted scales.
Nose tossing, nose smelling, lust of human and beast, but why?
Nice women smiling, yelling, yet still no sighing.
Matador, so small, little stature, little showing, yet red is his eye.
"More, more, more," the crowd roars.
Dirt tossing, turning, blowing, anger showing.
Back-and-forth the red ball changes speed.
Red is the ball, red is his blood.
Women in passion, now moaning, red in need.
Bull is dying, now groaning.
Computer shows why, shows my need, internet speed slowing.
Damn the red ball, curse the red bull, why did he need to die?
Why didn't you try?
Ask the red ball, it is all knowing.
© 2011 Robin B.
B. Lipinski claims to be addicted to writing. It helps that
his good dreams are other people's nightmares. There is not much to
know about him other than he shares this planet with you and others.
Read more by Robin B.
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