An 'old matador' returns for another season 1996
In from the bullpen
meatyFernando Valenzuela
black hair slick
as he anticipates
hungry exertions of love
regally walks the paseo
as the crowds roar in approval
remembering once great moments
Sacrificial bloodied hitters
looking stunned after having their being sliced
by his wicked left—handed “scroogie”
As he taunted them
Hiding his art
behind an expressionless face which served
as a curtain never allowing outsiders a glimpse
of the agony where for every hit
a pitcher is gored
by sharp invisible horns
A single nicking his thigh
A double stabbing his side
A triple gouging deep in his groin
A home—run piercing his heart
And they still snort and lunge after him
Enraged like wild things
at how easy he made
it all seem
How it used to be
Desperate final swings
turning their tormented faces
deep red as raw liver
Heaped
on a plate before a mound
manicured carefully
as a sandy ring for slaughter
But now the young bulls
experience no bursts of panic
as they batter around
A matador who has lost his youth
along with his stylish slider.
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