Like creeks
running down a mountain
Curving around
his nose and cheek bones and chin
He sweated, not
of fear
But of the energy
pulsating in his veins
With every beat
of his heart
His adrenalin
level grew higher
He placed the
barrels where they needed to be
Almost like a
military attack plan
To help him
defeat his enemy
They announced
his name
They called him
the Kamikaze Kid
As he tipped his
hat
The crowd
clapped, cheered, and whistled
As he nodded his
head calling for this bull, Sabona’s Lucky Seven
He heard nothing,
nothing but the voice in his head
And the beat of
the bull’s hooves
Drawing in closer
and closer at lightning fast speed
He stepped through
once, then twice
On the third he
lost his feet
Giving the bull
time to catch him
He hit him with
the power of a truck, rolling him across the arena
Like a tumble
weed in the wind
As the Kamikaze
Kid regained his feet
Lucky Seven
caught him against the fence
The kid holding
on to the top rail with all his strength
Swinging like a
piñata after a hard blow
He paused,
catching his breath
Slowly making his
way to the barrel, his life boat in an ocean of sand
Lucky Seven came
to the barrel with the same intensity as before
He set the bull,
walking backwards in order to get a run
Carefully placing
his feet as he began to run so as to hit his mark on the barrel
To fly high above
the horns
Stepping up onto
the barrel his foot slipped off the smooth side
As it did the
bull caught him once again
Flipping him over
his head
The buzzer
sounded, he struggled back to his feet, using all his strength
After the fight
at the awards ceremony
When the 5-time
world champ came up to get his buckle, all battered and bruised and
bloody
He and everyone
else knew that his time to hang up his cleats had come
This was the
Kamikaze Kid’s last NFR appearance
Rob Smets will
always be remembered as the Master of Bullfighting
