The Bull
by Nadine Fiedler
On top of his dresser
a hollow ceramic bull
held what was in his pockets at night
The bull eternally charged forward
headed towards the closet
with the pornography inside
The sounds of the coins
he threw into the bull
felt angry to me felt
as if he were trying
to defy his daily existence
one in which he was trivial
To become the bull
ruling over the herd
of women who surrounded him
he snorted, he mounted, he gored
heedless of consequences
broken girls strewn behind
no one could stop him
in his quest to conquer
the bull long gone
he is long gone
Reduced in his last years to a frail
obsessed nothing
forced to flee
hated by the cows
cursed by the cows
driven off
running across the fields
uselessly roaring
Poet bio
Nadine Fiedler is a freelance writer and editor who has been writing poetry for many years. She lives in Portland.