the black bull

the matador,
is old.
he sits in his spangled
costume,
the tilted hat,
the shoes,
glittering gold.
blood on his sword.
the roar of the crowd
at the black
bull
kneeling towards
death in the middle.
his eyes
uncertain.
the ache
in his back.
so many bulls to kill,
so little time
left
to do so.