Dust and Dreams-A Journey
The Concrete Rodeo (Reflection)
The Concrete Rodeo
They are galloping, as herds usually do,
Careful abhorrers of contact, unashamed,
They see shades of two; red and blue,
Instinctively, as wild game,
The cowboy in this asylum,
Sits astride the tallest horse there,
In his sun-crinkled eyes of iron,
An unspoken isolation sits bare,
The grouping of old calves, twitching,
Lie helpless, does eyes scorched by the flame,
The horses have something missing,
This time, too, the killing's the same,
They are prancing the dance of walking dead,
Pompous in their celebration,
Hooves reared, manes blazing, darkly lead,
Foaming nostrils snorting in elation,
Gray stones of past and present,
Drop heavy to block their reign,
Foreboding in their silent warning,
To simply ignore-not stop- the game,
The games go on, unquestioning,
The sport of blood simple stands,
The concrete rodeo an ambivalent circus,
Gaping players sporting scarlet hands.
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
They are galloping, as herds usually do,
Careful abhorrers of contact, unashamed,
They see shades of two; red and blue,
Instinctively, as wild game,
The cowboy in this asylum,
Sits astride the tallest horse there,
In his sun-crinkled eyes of iron,
An unspoken isolation sits bare,
The grouping of old calves, twitching,
Lie helpless, does eyes scorched by the flame,
The horses have something missing,
This time, too, the killing's the same,
They are prancing the dance of walking dead,
Pompous in their celebration,
Hooves reared, manes blazing, darkly lead,
Foaming nostrils snorting in elation,
Gray stones of past and present,
Drop heavy to block their reign,
Foreboding in their silent warning,
To simply ignore-not stop- the game,
The games go on, unquestioning,
The sport of blood simple stands,
The concrete rodeo an ambivalent circus,
Gaping players sporting scarlet hands.
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
