Dead Man

The bull walked out the door
The muleta fell to the floor
The mail came back with a check
The man is no longer poor.

The effort with which he toiled
The sweat with which he sweated
Is all under the soil
That’s what everyone betted.

No longer will he fight
No longer will he run
No longer will he struggle
All his work is done.

The man is dead
Hollow is his head
Never again

Anything to dread.

Advertisements