There were women holding rosaries
On the day Manolette died
Teenage girls in soft white dresses
Standing silent peace respecting
Groups of boys held in their hands
The fragments of a shattered idol
The old men with their traditions challenged
Refrained from tears
Neck neck hook
Poles of wood
The Picadores stood eyes ablaze
To view brutal contest
In the vale of years
Courage unfailing
Agility exhausted
Youth entered challenge
Reached for title shelved
Patrons in attendance
To disarm a common myth
Homage played to the victor of immortality
Cloaked in bold tones
In the stockyard the beasts
Did climb their barriers
Bid by a frenzied ring
Bred for one purpose only
o die in man's sport
Dash against his spindle
An instant fell to wounding
On the day
Swords penetrating
On the day Torches igniting
On the day
Flower wreaths encircling
The day On the day
Shards of glass cut through my gaze
broken streamers hanging at my legs
drunk and giddy full of fate
at the cabaret
smokey stares from the bar
do stray bottles tumble
I feel the misty spray
what a perfect, perfect day for the cabaret
from afar he sees
Venus rise overwhelmingly beautiful
he sighs the look of love was in her eyes
puts his hand upon her leg
looking closer his lust begins to fade
what a drag the queen did say.
could this be a dream I’m in? ( Fellini would be proud )
gluttony enfolds the scene
give them one last round ,
shining faces dance away
swinging skirts between the panted legs
kaleidescoping
then shassez in a blink the glasses fly
suddenly joy becomes a fight
there they tossed and turned a sight.