Eight Seconds
by Dawn Schout



Compelled by the adrenaline,
large crowd, and jackpot,
he sits on a bull.
Entry fee and day’s pay depend
on an eight second ride. Left
arm flails in the air.
Dust stirs, neck jerks.
He struggles to stay
in rhythm with the one-ton beast,
hoping it has some weakness
to complement his strength.





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.