In the Ring
Flank hairs bristle in preparation,
Nostrils flair and forget polite breathing
Table’s been set, and drawn lines solidify
As the circle is entered to begin
Air, densely layered in huffs and sighs,
Signs of disgruntlement shower scuffed feet
Roses from a fond, forgotten era
Picked petal by petal as they advance
The cape flicks up to punch the sky
As a fork tines its way into pink flesh
Chew, chew, chew in brief flashes of red,
The crimson sunset of all’s unsaid
Leaving scorch marks on another setting,
Supper shared in passive-aggressive knives
One dares to speak, a strained timber
Echoes off clenched jaw of hooves, stomping
Small talk becomes more uncomfortable
Than the sting of a horn tip, at least
Once insides are gouged out it’s over,
This dance goes on for hours
Dishes try sneaking off, but are thrown
Into scalding water that only cleans
Away outer filth, the cauldron remains
Thick and black between, sands
Of fury lay steeped in a world of “right”
And the only thing showing signs of wear
Is the cape
Another approach, a clashing
Of tongues reverbs the flowers, wilting
Minute by minute on the wall as children
Scatter, and the looming bed grows colder -
Which is quite odd, considering the presence
Of two stubborn bulls, snore-fighting
The night away
