Red is Your Color

He slices the dust with his cleft toes,
And you spit on the ground.
The bull looks at you,
His Bambi eyes defying their own lashes,
And his nostrils flare,
Daring you to cross the hoof-grooved line.
Between your heavy breathing,
And the deep, ready rasping of his flared nostrils,
There is no time other than right now.
Right here, you stand.
Your costume, the baited breaths of family,
The tilt of your hat, your well-bred hands,
Do not matter now.
All that matters is the red, blazing cloth,
Between you and the silent master of it.
Feel the sweat course down your body,
But do not worry.
The camera's will not catch it.
They will only catch that flag,
As it falls from one of your bodies.