dust scatters behind our motorist matador

as he whips heroically around the curve

frenzied fans cheer in the fiery fen, 

bulls surging on a sequined red cape

 

blood like thunder pounds in his ears

survival is quite the catharsis;

to think only moments before he’d pictured

his lifeless body crashing up through the floorboards of Heaven

 

when he sits atop the wobbly platform

legs straddled over this metal machine

he lies between past and present, innocence and martyrdom

soon he may breathe new air

or else meet his maker

 

his frantic eyes betray his steeled posture,

tracing the ramp down, down, down— 

it bulges inward, like the edge of a knife,

curving into hell

 

the lights are too strong now

they melt his waxy skin into opaque drops

the tempestuous flames flicker ‘’round the metal hoop 

turning his mind to the golden parade of youth

when death seemed to follow eternity

rather than the nearest moment

 

now he tugs at his collar, as if to say

“i’ll stick to the easy life,

five days of work, two days of rest,

no complaints, just getting by”

 

suddenly a faint figure appears in the mirage

its wings singed at the edges

its feet black and swollen

and its eyes bloodshot red

 

the ghastly cherub raises its bow and cocks its head

as if to say

“think on all you’ve left to lose—

the bridges you’ve yet to burn,

the lovers you’ve yet to scorn,

the hell you’ve yet to raise,

the boredom you’ve yet to kill;

some way or another

you’ll burn up one day”

 

so he fastens his helmet, clasps his palm over the throttle

kicks his foot up and grins with deranged excitement

as he surges towards the jeering shadows

far, far, far below

 

Conrad Lewis can be reached at cglewis@wesleyan.edu.