Rodeo

Looking directly ahead, eyes stretched to breaking point, the rider watched with no steering wheel as his huge black, frenzied angry hate fuelled bull charged, bucked, leapt, grunted and attacked the iron barred, immovable barricade. He flew from the beast. He flew like a rag doll being tossed, and fate decided to use his chest, not his face, to stop his body on the fence. Some of the crowd cheered, some feigned interest, while the internet drugged told of the more exciting and “real life” rides on you-tube. Crowds of kids imagined there crazed wild rides in their control at the dodgem cars while a new cohort of five year olds had their first buck on a calf in the gladiatorial ring… gates flung open. A huge accepting applause met the first child, the fifth child met a number of disinterested and schedule watching people gauging if they have the time to purchase a pie or beer and not miss the proud horses teased by a rope. And the horsemen, rounding up, taming the beasts, unfazed by the animal power, the universal anger released by these docile beasts. These horsemen sit quiet, relaxed and yet completely aware of every movement in the cauldron. The rage, the softly, the loud of the rodeo.