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A bullrider’s dance

The crowd cheers his name from the stands,
Lights bright,
Anticipation floats about,
The bullrider waltz’s to the pen,
Ready,
The caged bull eyeing him on it’s periphery,
Marking him.
Hands on the bullpen handles,
He lowers himself to sit astride a body that refuses to be sat on,
Tape is wrapped around his gloved wrist,
Leather rope is tightenedtightened around the bull,
Hand holding the tight loop behind the bulls hump,
‘Ready?’
The bull thrashes,
Ready to rid the rider from its back,
He nods, ‘ready’
The gates open,
The crowd cheers,
The clock has began counting,
The dance begins.
Bullrider’s left hand sways in the air,
The right holding tight,
The bulls back legs push out,
An enourmous beast,
The bullrider’s body thrust into the air,
Leather chaps flares like a ballerinas tutu as the bull bucks in circles,
The beasts saliva stroking the air in one long ribbon like a gymnast’s ribbon slicing the wind and painting a mesmerizing pattern.
The crowd goes wild,
But he’s deaf to it all.
The bullrider’s bidy slams back on the bulls back,
Agitated, it bucks,
Head down, it kicks its back legs out again and arcs its body.
The bull rider body thrust to the air holds on,
His Stetson still firmly in place,
Its six seconds already,
Two more to hit the mark,
He sways precariously to the left and sits awkwardly on the bulls back before it sends him in the air,
Chaps flapping,
Left hand flailing with balance,
He holds on,
The bull twists,
He’s stayed on for eight seconds,
The crowd cheers.

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Everyone's life view prism is different.

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