Note: This is the second in a series of six sequential poems by Jack Callan of Norfolk, written upon viewing a television feature highlighting a Spanish woman's dream of becoming a matador, and who has become successful in the Spanish bullring. Over the next five days, the remaining poems will appear in sequence.
My mother threw me beneath the bull
to see if I could escape.
She had bread and salad for dinner
when I returned.
I was filthy,
alive
so very hungry.
Not handsome
no one would want me.
The bull was frightening
it didn't seem fair.
Over and over I jumped the fence
again and again I returned.
My hat was trampled
gone forever
but I always came back
even without rank
I am special.
What is a hat?
The bull is born to die in the ring
sometimes the matador.
It's never even.
Never.
(c)Jack Callan 2010
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