An Andalusian Bull
The matador says we are the bull lapping
wild, breathing heavy in our sleep. When we dream
we are men, dropping bomb after bomb after cease fire
and resist, feel the urge to go home. To our women, to
our kids who dress up and play soldier, pretend
to die in the field. They will die in the field, when
they’re older, not much. We can still hear the rebels
in the hills as machine guns speak,
We are here because of God. We
are here because of God. We are
here because the world
is on it’s way to
seeing red. And
we purge, long
strides, four legs, for our children. For our…
dead language in our throats and our shot-
gun shells. We shot the Spaniard in the ass, two
times for one God. Breathing heavy
in the heat, never men but just
bulls. Just goring, just blind but seeing
red in the lines of friends’ faces, in the slits of friends’
necks while laughing, while charging, while loving
our God, who doesn’t hear us anymore. We hear
the Matador speak as Our horn clogs the throat.
Machine guns sound like Latin in Madrid.
Michael Augustine Jefferson is from New Haven, Connecticut. His work has been published by tNY.Press, Electric Cereal, Drunk In A Midnight Choir and Long River Review. His dream is to see Powerline live in concert and his favorite land animal is a bear.
Shell Myers was born in Elyria, Ohio, but now calls Philadelphia their home. They are a queer multimedia artist, voted most artistic in the 8th grade. They are passionate about emotional sensitivity, play, and subverting toxic masculinity. Shell is the Administrative Coordinator of Art & Art History at Drexel University. When they're not putting in that 9 to 5, they make time to create collages, paintings, photographs and drawings. You can find more of their work at www.shellmyers.com