Rodeo

Blood on a shirt, and blood
on the ground, raw aroma
tearing the senses, tearing
the stiff skin, tented
around a bruised heart.

A horn button split
some light cloth, ripping
open what was hidden,
what never met our eyes.

His belt hung on loops
on hitched jeans, his knees
raised on a bull's back,
both of them bent in a curve.

His gloved hand palmed
braided reins, released
and tightened, bouncing down
the last breathless leap.

Clowns, like painted angels,
hoisted him after the fall,
and handed him his creased
hat, still wet from the ride.