The strong young bulls
don’t come to the ring
to die on Sunday.
They come to show a man their energy
their pride.
The dancing that they’ve practiced all their lives
to bring to the arena one August afternoon.
Their partners are not killers then.
They’re dancers too.
Their red capes flashing.
Three-cornered hats that scoop applause
when the dancing’s done.
Pity not the strong young bull.
He takes his chance.
As does the matador.
The price for coming to the dance.
Young men pretty in the sun
against the handsome bulls.
Killers? No.
Only dancers in the dance.
To see the dancing is to know.
I don’t believe that really
I’m of the Taurus sign
and every dead bull in the ring is my relation.
~Rod McKuen
Listen to the Warm
