Bullfight

A red cloth flaps in the sky,
a gate rumbles open and a pawing of hooves,
an angry sprint to ram into the offending colour,
a hasty retreat when the cloth disappears.

The cloth is visible again,
a hint of challenge in the human’s eyes,
a haughty toss of horns,
an adrenaline powered charge.

A sudden stop when the cloth is thrown away,
a race to see who survives,
attempts to destroy the smug human,
a few falls to the ground.

The bull’s eyes blaze with red,
an unspoken determination in its taut features,
a tactical sprint,
the human at last at his mercy. 

And a victorious hoof at his chest,
a proud roar in his movements,
his masculinity empowering him,
‘bull-fighting’, they called it.