Snort, snort

one hoof in the bright, golden, sand.

Fleas dive-bombing my eyes.

The harsh crackle of the cattle prod.

I break into a quick trot to go into the ring.

“And here’s Halitosis Harrrrrry! The famous bull! ”

The Anncouer drones on, I stare into the matador’s pupils.

His loose black clothing looks wraithlike.

His cruel, dark, I pierce my large, brown, bovine ones

A twitch in my foreleg makes me paw.

The smooth, yellow, sand is beautiful.

The air is tense.

The bloodthirsty crowd is silent.

I charge