Like A Red Rag to A Bull
Once upon a time, at work
She skilfully wielded words
like a picador with his vara,
seeking to disembowel, discharge, and disintegrate.
Observers meticulously tracked
each shift in mood,
as if she were testing
her presumed querencia.
They duly acknowledged
every twist of my head,
my vision blurred,
for paying attention does not guarantee retention.
Peto won't protect me anymore,
even if I blurt out.
Her picador strikes
behind the morrillo.
My muscles grow weak.
They drew the first blood.
The actual battle has only just begun,
with two closest banderilleros against me.
Magenta and gold capote flutters in the wind.
My favourite horn is out of sort.
They know,
attempted territory won.
Banderillas stuck to my shoulders
without glorious results.
Aplomado state of anger, agitation, humiliation, and shame,
thrilling the audience with faena dance and artistic shapes.
How killing the weaker could ever make sense?
I question the logic behind the enraged face.
Three women against one, plus one man.
The purpose of society is being fragmented.
Why are you all doing this?
Is it for the sake of fame?
Logorrhoea is dragging you down
even though you won't even lift a finger.
While you destroy, justice awaits on the next stage,
after they bury the tercios in disgrace.
You will peruse my books as you wallow in hell,
unaware that your behaviour caused all of this,
a writer arisen
from your poisonous ashes.
---
Thank you for reading!
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
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Comments (1)
This piece has a vivid and intense tone. It questions how people tear others down for personal gain, while hinting at the potential for justice and redemption later. It's a raw, powerful piece with layers of emotion and meaning—really makes you think!✨