He stalks into the arena, head held erect and proud,
with sweeping bow and swirling cape acknowledging the crowd.
His suit of lights sparkles, twinkling stars in a midnight sky;
though threadbare it may be in spots, still it dazzles the eye.
As though conjured, the bull appears; a nightmare in a dream.
His nostrils in the crisp air truly seem to belch forth steam.
Lowering his head, he charges, raging across the sand;
the matador leads with his cape, sword in his other hand.
His thrust is sure and true each pass, the bull just brushing by,
as muscles remember rhythms his brain cannot supply.
At length, the duel is ended, the way it always must.
One slip and he is hooked and thrown, lies broken in the dust.
A wisp of smoke, the bull is gone; the spectral crowd wants more,
but this night’s show is over for the Zombie Matador.
My name is Michael Williams, and my WordPress ID is BoardFlak. I am a quadriplegic, and I use my computer with voice recognition software.
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