A man cut out for slaughterhouse work
He’d come home invigorated, bellowing for meat
no meal complete without some blood-
or gravy-smothered dish.
Split-toed creature of excess,
his bulk scrubbed porcine pink
smooth as a penis tip after
his daily dip au jus. Hairy lord,
trailing the stench of untold arenas and altars,
lurid god of shambles and abattoirs,
rabid disembowler.
Fresh viscera gleaming
between steel watchband links
and beneath nails
thick as horns.
At the table, he’d nudge me
daring me to eat.
I thought it was an act of defiance
to swallow something raw.
At night I dream him red-eyed
steer head black as a butcher’s heart
Beringed nostrils exhale twin plumes of heat.
Now my eyes avert, breath comes short
when I am in the presence of a beefcake
desiring heavy hooves in my back
pin me beneath haunches thick and marbled.
Shuddering, I deny my tastes
I run the hair-pin turns, slippery desire’s chute,
Recalling too late that I am
a quarter goddess, a quarter cow.
Wholly his: Daughter. Child.
Blood.
Crescent crown and star
hides beneath this sleek hair.
I dream myself wielder of the spear,
stunner, tanner, carrier of the bolt-gun.
Stripped to my barest components
I am left lowing in the pit.
Forced to drive alone the lions
and after to dye the red linens
before waving them again.
My Father: Shame. Gall.
Guts.
Am forced to surrender
again and again
my throat, my heart
and everything below.
I am his china shop.
Author notes
Sylvia Plath worked through her daddy issues, so here's mine.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 27 of 27
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Wow.
Visceral disgust shame and physicality. This is a potent piece of work, not just in the theme but in the language used eg "daily dip au jus" UUUGHHH. Every image is like that killing bolt. Overpowering. My heart goes out to one dealing with such raw brutality/animality. Best RA
PS what really rocks me is the disturbing truth of blood connectedness to the beast - he is you/us. Amazing stuff. -
Vivid!
All of the images are so strong! All of us question and critique our parents - this is a great concept for accepting the flaws and personality of a parent. Brava!!
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Bravo!
Great theme and excelent narrative with choice words and phrases telling a semi-horror story with the mixture of mythology to grasp the audience and keep him/her in suspense all the way. It was indeed rather hypnotic.
The first stanza was an excellent root laying a great foundation for the poem. One can see clearly whre the poem is going. but not how it was going to grt there and what surprises would arise along the way.
-A grat job of desribing the beast and his daughter's feelings about him.My fav:My Father: Shame. Gall.
Guts.
Am forced to surrender
again and again
my throat, my heart
and everything below.
I am his china shop.************
Just to do my job as a critiquer, if there is such a word.
I would have liked to see a few more juicy metaphors and similes, But hey I don't want to mess with near-perfection.
Thanks, ~Rich(G2A)
language: 4, rhythm: 5, subject: 5, tone: 5, form: 5.
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Your father made you
and you cannot help but be your father's daughter.
I like the animal introspection of this piece, exploring the base nature between man and woman. This may appear to be about your father, but really it would appear to be about the raw animal instinct between man and woman and how it comes from our lower origins. The male protects, the female nurtures. I see this in the awe and physical esteem with which you held your father and his commanding aura. Though about a slaughterhouse and cows and dad, I liked the tie in to the lions because that is a perfect metaphor for sexual desire in we humans. For some reason I think about the lion pride where the male chills until called upon to defend, tears the hell outta some offender like a roving pack of hyenas, and then retires to gettin' busy with his pride. I think I see the same in you calling your father a bull, or minotaur. You see him as protector and it does something to your insides. It's funny, but whenever I have been called upon to do my lionly(or minotaurly) duty my wife does get all hot and bothered. There is a strangely primal tie-back to the whole male protective thing. Strange, but my wife said that was the biggest point of attraction to her at our first meeting, that she felt protected. Not my scintillating wit nor dapper hair-do, nor brilliant conversation... but that she felt safe. Damn...after all that I've done to become a Renaissance man I am apparently still just a piece of meat. Sigh.....
I like the tie in to food, too and the man's role of bringing home the bacon. You are a traditionalist and see man as the provider due to your father's example. I think that's great even though you here are emulating a prominent man-hater in Plath. There is great power in traditional roles and when they are supplanted the rolees are left confused. Your father seems an old fashioned man right down the line and I'm sorry, but identify and empathize more with him than with your angst/awe. Feminist's wanted the power, now they got it but are bitching about not having time in their jobs for the fulillment of kids. Feminists bitched about wanting a sensitive man and now are bitching about being sorrounded by a bunch of simpering male patsies. You like that your father is manly, don't you? You can't have it both ways. Women can't grab the reigns and then demand their knight in shining armor gallop them to bliss with manly vigor. The woman stands behind the man, supports him and gives him power by love and heals him when he is broken. If she's not there, the man just stays broken. Leggo the reigns, let a man be a man and woman be a woman. It works. The world today is so messed up and confused.
I like how you identify with your father like a young warrioress with your bolt gun, symbolizing the standing by his side. I think we identify with power(your father in a position of power both as provider, slaughterer(there is a strange power is slaying things), and head of the household) on a base level because it is intrinsic to our survival. When we see surety, confidence and that which insures our own safety we flock to it and raise our banner alongside. Again, we return to our animal survival instinct and how it drives our actions.
This may appear to be about your father and how he has shaped your sexual desires, but I read more into it as the base nature of attraction between a man and a woman. The lions really had the effect on that turning point for me. The only thing that caught me slightly off-guard(and perhaps that was your intent) was the whole "smooth as a penis tip" thing when you're writing a poem about your Father. I did recoil a little, but relaxed back down after discovering how you relate your father image to the forming of your sexual desires. Very effective foreskinning, er I mean foreshadowing....if not a tad disturbing at the onset of it all.
Pie, this was a like a poetic Sistine Chapel for me. You packed a lot into this and it explodes with what you have to say. Very powerful and you convey well the masculinity that you gravitate to. Very, very effective. Mucha Fuerza!!!!
Al
p.s. if you didn't guess, I think I'm kinda partial to your dad and his ways...I think a man oughta be a man and it sounds like he had no problem with that.
language: 5, rhythm: 5, subject: 5, tone: 5, form: 5.
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I must make a correction in the above...
I had always understood that it was Sylvia Plath who made the statement "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle". And well...this goes to show the truth that I do not read poetry nor am I fluent in it's trappings and assorted artists. I WAS WRONG. I'm sorry. Sylvia Plath is not a man hater, hence my whole diatribe above is rather top-heavy with this leg removed from my reasoning and is apt to topple at any time.
You have my apologies, Pie. Your IM was most educational and in the future I shall research my assertions most assiduously, holding steadfast to truth of the supported variety. Again, my apologies...I'm a traditionalist ass(I just threw that little bit of self-deprecation in there for all you feminists), but I do love women and never would think to impose my view as doctrine. It's just how I feel and I have a terrible habit of telling people just that...hee, hee...Lo siento.
Al
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This is brilliant, Lauren...
A lot's been written about this piece, and justifiably so. What struck me immediately, viscerally, through the sounds of the words in the opening two stanzas was the sheer bulk and the massive intrusiveness and invasiveness of his presence. The sybillants and percussive sounds of the words like 'slaughterhouse,' 'bellowed' 'meat' 'blood' ' gravy smothered' ''split-toed' 'excess' and this combination I just noticed as I was compiling this list: 'penis tip'... and 'dip au jus' 'stench' 'shambles' 'abbatoir'
All of them not that much by themselves but in the carrion slush pile you've mounted them in it has an overwhelming effect of slime-sloth and it gives the reader such a graphic picture of how your, the writer's mind has been affected by the situation. And it's the sounds in combination, as I said, that accomplish that. And, I may be wrong, and underestimating your abilities or intentions or both, but I don't think we have full control of the final effect. You choose appropriate, descriptive words piece by piece and may be aware of the full design of the tapestry but not of the final, full, power of description. Sorry, I'm not being very clear. I'm just still hung up on the SOUNDS of those words rebounding and bouncing off each other and the result for me is something, literally, beyond words and into another realm that the words themselves have opened up.
Stanza 4, apart from word-sound is a masterly piece of writing. Anthropomorphic nightmare. And this is a nightmare but redeemed by your ironic level-eyed view.
The concluding line is the perfect example of this, bull in a china shop. For me, this goes much deeper than Plath, not as ordered and fussy, just an allout barrage of restless dream and real consciousness. Really brilliant, awe-struck me is. MJ -
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Hi, Richard. I am confused-- you did or did not like the opening descriptions of this piece? Or perhaps like/dislike isn't what you meant-- you did or did not think they were successful?
I did intend to make them overwhelming and overwhelmingly nasty, because that describes my father to a tee.
I am glad you clearly liked the second half of the piece though. Thanks, as ever, for your thoughts and support.
Lauren
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I liked the whole piece, Lauren...
There's not a word I'd change anywhere. I did like the first part of it, your intention was served but what struck me most about the first section was the SOUNDS of the words, the sybillants and percussives and how they built so successfully the picture of sloth, rapine, etc. etc . Sorry, I guess I wasn't too clear, as I was trying to explain my gut/ear reaction to those sounds you amassed and piled together to portray the revolting scene. Then the second half softened somewhat and became subtler and more ironic. Pardon me, ma'am for giving the wrong impression. You didn't catch that 'better than Plath,' huh? MJ
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Hey Miss Pie.....trully a gut burner.......guess you, me, and Sylvia have similar issues.......maybe that we have endured these is what lends to our creativity...in any event well put...loved the metaphor.....you inspired me to find and post mine. "The Confession"
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Thanks, LD. I guess there's a certain life-experience recipe that invariably turns women like Sylvia and you and me into poets. Is it really twisted of me to say that I would not wish my life to be any different?
I'll be sure to check your poem out. Thanks as always for reading and leaving a comment.
Pie
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Dark and Sexy
Lauren, this is so daring and honest it plumbs new depths even for you - and that's deep. Your discussions about it here, especially with Brandon, cover its implications excellently and I can only echo Brandon's comments about all of it. You are a great and fearless poetess. You have things to say ,the guts to say them and the skill to say them well. I was recently challenged (in a lighthearted way) about the lack of angst in my work. This is darker than I would generally like to read. But perhaps the greatest compliment I can pay it is it makes me wish I had more angst in my life. And I agree with Brandon about the eroticism which grows from its darkness. It's damn sexy. Truth can be. Great Write. >W<
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Thanks, John. Of all the people that I've gotten to know on this site, you were the only one whose reaction to this piece I wasn't sure about. I am very pleased (and a little relieved) with your response. Fearless? Hell no. I was bloody terrified when I wrote it, even more terrified when I posted it. Don't know if I'll ever be able to bring myself to share it with Patrick. If it ever got published, I sure as hell wouldn't share it with any other family. But after "Speaking Ill of the Dead," I was determined to get to the bottom of things and clear out old ghosts once and for all. I don't want to be the victim of my own slow poisons like my grandmother.
For a long time, I haven't wanted to face the impact my father made on my life. I thought cutting him off would be enough. But I see pictures of myself where I smile just like he does and I shudder or I hear myself laugh and it's his laugh. I can't change it, so I might as well embrace it.
Thank you so much, as always, for your support. Like Brandon, you were the other great force that has continuously pushed me to trust myself.
Love,
Lauren
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It's verbally and emotionally a long way between "slaughterhouse" and its similar "abattoir", from "Minotaur" to "quarter cow", but you've travelled that distance with real poetic skill, once again, Lauren. I love this work; it digs down to uncomfortable depths in the poet, it probes the arteries of a bloodline, and it doesn't let go until it gets to the heart of the matter: the delicate girl, now woman, recoiling from the bull-man in the ring and in the shop.
Every image works: "goddess" (Diana? forgetting her athletic hunting skills?), the poet's one-fourth of both her bullish father and mother - the other half, struggling human - the blood-linened waving of the bull-him again and again into your life, the oppressive weight of his "heavy hooves" in and out of your dreams, in and out of that china shop, femininity buried in macho meat. Wow, what a poetic treat, despite my reader's sympathy for the poet's torture.
I have a hunch, although you've worked through (some of?) your "daddy issues," their resonances will never go away, like mine never have. But this wonder of writing has got to have gone deep enough for at least a temporary sigh of relief, a brief exorcism, a little blood-letting. Technically, I think absolutely nothing in the poem is out of place; every word, image and feeling perfectly conceived and executed.
And another helluva good poem is the result. Marvellous.
Luv
Lad
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Hi, Lad. As usual, you get me. You can probably imagine just how "uncomfortable" I got with these depths-- I haven't even been able to share this poem with Patrick.
The goddess I meant is older-- the horned goddess, precursor to Isis, Astarte, Ishtar. And Cybele as well, in her chariot driven by lions, the earth mother, counterpart to the horned god. But yes, half human, and unsure of how to deal with the mythic struggle against hubris and desire.
You're right-- the issues, once worked through, never really go away. I think working through roughly translates as "learn to live with."
Thanks for reading and enjoying.
How is Wayne holding up?
Luv,
Lauren
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You have me breathing heavy
and excited with the images you've given here. In the tradition of Plath, who you mention as an inspiration, this is a wonderful (or maybe terrible is more appropriate?)dish of loathing and love served up medium rare. I especially enjoyed:
"Now my eyes avert, breath comes short
when I am in the presence of a beefcake
desiring heavy hooves in my back
pin me beneath haunches thick and marbled."
not necessarily because it is the greatest part of the poem, but I love the honest, raw sexuality of it which turns out to underscore Freud a bit; but, seriously, this stanza combined with the one following, made my heart race a little. I actually felt a little guilty thinking of you in that way--but only a little, which is funny, because, I've never seen you, so who am I thinking of? This is the conundrum of the Internet. We know we're interacting with real human beings, but they'll never be more than ghosts passing through our glowing screens. It's a shame really, because most of the most interesting people I "know" I interact with online. C'est la vie ma cherie.
Anyway, back to the poem. Using images connected to cows, meat, butchering as you do, which you do really well by the way, I assume your father really was/is a butcher? A loud, lively, pugilistic and frightening man, but also one with a tender, human side as evidenced by your use of minotaur in the title. Very clever to use this image, this hybrid of the god and monster that fathers are, both loved and feared, both reviled for their heavy-handed masculinity...and desired for just that reason. Very brave of you to unfold that dark leaf and show us your heart. I suspect our relationship with our parents mold our sexual desires somewhat. And then to combine the minotaur image with that of the corrida del toros. I really don't know how to interpret this part
this:
"Crescent crown and star
hides beneath this sleek hair.
I dream myself wielder of the spear,
stunner, tanner, carrier of the bolt-gun.
Stripped to my barest components
I am left lowing in the pit.
Forced to drive alone the lions
and after to dye the red linens
before waving them again."
Such deep inner conflict! Such ambivalence! Our genetics, our environmental influences are impossible to overcome. We cannot be more than we are, no matter how much we may hate ourselves. These above stanzas are the best in the whole piece, both in imagery, but also in constuction. "star," "hair," "spear." "lions," "linens." And I think the last two lines are the most telling, and moving, of the whole. You're both the bull and the matadora.
If I may make a suggestion? Maybe you should try for a formal, rhyming piece here? My only real qualm with this is that in places it seems to struggle for formal expression, then it breaks off into free verse. Actually, I take that back, this actually stengthens the sense of struggling ambivalence.
Well, I have chores to do, so I must leave this now. I could ramble over this for another hour, and perhaps I will later on. There is so much to chew on here.
Lauren, you are getting personal, raw, and this reader loves what he sees and feels after reading.
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Hi, Brandon. I am thrilled beyond words that you got so much out of this piece, that you saw so much. . . and the nymph in me grins wickedly that it even turned you on a bit. Don't feel guilty-- we ARE people behind the glowing screen, and I think more and more people are forging their closest connections with others that they don't really "know."
It was very, very hard for me to write this piece, and harder still for me to post it. I haven't even shared this one with my husband, so ashamed am I of these impulses. I have not spoken to my father in years, and I can just imagine my husband's reaction-- appalled, followed by, "You're attracted to guys like your DAD? Since when?" Yes, my father really did work for a slaughterhouse-- I assume he still does. He would shower before he came home, but there would really still be blood and guts under his nails and in his watchband links. He would wax poetic about the savage beauty of the tableau-- hundreds of cows strung up on hooks, surrounded by people in protective gear, the blood, the steam-- he always said if he were an artist, he would paint it. Does he have a human side? I suppose he must-- something must have instilled this twisted desire in me for that type of man. You say you think that our relationship with our parents molds our sexual desires-- no somewhat about it. But then, I grew up in a mostly Latino neighborhood-- damn near all the men marry their mothers, and ditto for the women marrying their fathers. Somehow, I did escape that, but it haunts me.
But what you said about fathers generally speaking is right on-- gods and monsters, loved and feared.
Those two stanzas you weren't sure on-- the crescent crown and star refers to the ancient horned goddess, and all the other things I listed are things that are used on cattle-- the matador uses the spear, the stunner is the person in the slaughterhouse who electrocutes cattle coming down the chute so they will be unconscious when they are killed. The tanner cures the hides, and the bolt-gun is what they actually use in slaughterhouses to kill the cow. I dream myself armed.
But I only dream myself armed. In reality, I am left in the pit-- the bullfighting ring, the Roman arena, the taurobolium, alone. Several goddesses are depicted with lions as attendants, most notably Cybele, the earth mother, counterpart to the horned god. The red linens are of course the red flag, and also the stained sheets of virginity lost. But you got the essence-- I am both the bull and matadora.
Thank you for sensing how deeply I am learning to plunge. I owe a lot to the people on this site, and you have pushed me the hardest to reach this type of intensity. Thank you.
Lauren
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Very Moooving!
Great write here, Celestial. A veggie´s nightmare to be sure! A seamless interpolation of meaty issues with the gristle of a Father/Daughter relationship at odds. Your reminiscences (a prime topicality in your work) are in my opinion becoming leaner, yet meaner (in a positive sense)- so visceral in their evocative immediacy that I dare say we might have to share the gory-gothic crown among our worthy peers here at scarepoetry! To whit:
"lurid god of shambles and abattoirs,
rabid disembowler.
Fresh viscera gleaming
between steel watchband links
and beneath nails
thick as horns." Loved that last bit especially!
And many more examples. The phallic analogy was a riot and a half, Lauren - had me giggling obscenely.
Waxing mythological (as we are wont) I garnered the image of a hirsute satyr/Pan figure. The sexual undertones are "tastefully" exposed and their psychological context renders them somewhat universal in a Freudian sense which I feel abets rather than abates the brave personal aspect of their delivery. Further hints of crimson linens and such serve to adumbrate this distinctive thread/feature.
"Crescent crown and star" I gather crescent crown denotes receeding hairline but what do you mean by star - just curious.
"I dream myself wielder of the spear,
stunner, tanner, carrier of the bolt-gun." Great phallic/slaughterhouse analogy again - funnily enough I wrote, 2 or 3 weeks ago a piece entitled "Animus Pharm" which I guess you could call a veggie rant - we seem once again to pass by one another along the hallowed halls of the Akashic library, Celestial!.
Stanza 4 really paints the Minotaur well and strengthens the narrator´s role as a Theseus trapped in the psychic Labyrinth. Hopefully your Ariadne-like spool of words will aid you in both your travels and travails through winding paths of paternal suits/straight-jackets, avoiding pitfalls and patriarchal cul-de-sacs along the way.
And the ending? Well it certainly lends a cool hook to hang a bull by the horns.
I wish thee and thine a most fortuitous New Annum, Lauren, and thanx SO much for all your kind and generous encouragement during 2007.
Cheers
The gGolden Fleas
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I sensed that you would get a kick out of this one, Simon, and yes, I am starting to tend in your gGory direction, image-wise. (The people I have been compelled to use as subjects in my work demand no less.)
I am pleased and not surprised that you caught most of the Freudian and mythological references in this piece. The crescent and the star refer to the ornaments of the horned goddess-- in some instances, the crescent on her head is the dual purpose of representing both the moon and the horns. I blended my deities a little-- Cybele is actually the earth mother I had in mind when I mentioned driving the lions later though.
Have you posted your "Animus Pharm" piece? I would very much like to read that. We are very cognizant in my house of where our animal products come from, knowing what the conditions of corporate farming/slaughtering are for both animal and worker. (Part of this is being due to the fact that my father DOES work in slaughterhouses.)
Happy New Year and my thanks to you as well.
Cheers,
Lauren
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hey lauren
i have one word for this-primal, on many levels, your father is your creator, bones of my bones, flesh of my flesh;meat. this was like biting into filet mignon.
two things, i got more out of it after reading the authors notes and doing a second reading. i'd say include it in the poem but i know you think that makes it less universal
the last line, i gather means he's the bull in your china shop anyway i don't think the ending does this justice.
dave
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Hey, Dave. I kinda thought you might not like this piece, like my Mistress of Pain poem-- that it would be too much, especially with you being a new dad yourself. But I'm relieved to see that you found something to like.
Yeah, I wasn't sure about that last line. This is a poem I've written, re-written, and come back to several times over the past couple of months, and I kept taking that line out, putting it back in, moving it around. Ultimately, I left it in and at the end because it seemed like leaving the poem on a note of surrender made the most sense. But I will keep it in mind for future re-writes-- I imagine this is a poem I will continue to fuss with. Thanks.
Lauren
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I need some time on this one, cpie; I'll be back, in the meantime pondering it. Right off the top, I hear your most overdrawn, over-the-top poem to date (except for your 'Ages of Woman') and that's a compliment! And at the same time, your most complexly, intricately layered. Later, with intermittant admiration.
Lad
(I've opted out of points this time.) -
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Thanks, Lad. As always, I am eager to hear your thoughts.
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celestialpie
the imagery in this is amazing. throughout the whole piece the descriptive language is very strong. I don't wanna analyze it too much, but I've noticed a disturbingly sexual aspect to this. The steer sounds like a true southern gentleman. The depth of the poets soul is bared. Though metaphorical, the brutal honesty is something you just don't get everyday. 5 stars and bravo!
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Hi, RS. Nice to meet you. You are dead-on about the sexual aspects-- as much as I hate to admit it, I am attracted to men like my father. I usually do well at keeping it hidden, but every now and then, I meet a man who sets my teeth on edge. It's interesting that you got a southern gentleman out of it-- my father did live in the south for a number of years, but I don't believe he ever quite assimilated.
Thank you for recognizing the honesty in this piece. I wrote it several days ago, but in a fit of 1 a.m. bravado finally plucked up the courage to post it.
Thanks for reading, and I hope to return the favor soon.
Cheers,
Pie -
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CP
i don't think i replyed yet, if i did sorry for the repeat. When you say "sets your teeth on edge" i'm not sure what you mean by that, but i understand a lot of girls have the same tendency as you to be attracted to guys like their fathers. As far as the southern gentlemen comment goes, i don't know what gave me that idea but it came into my head, the thing is though that it was more meant as sarcasm than anything. have a happy new year!
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Well... am trying to organize my thoughts about this one and having a bit of a difficulty doing so. A very intense topic.
Let me start midway and point out one line which i did not get: steer head black as a butcher’s heart. steer head black? whats ye saying?
and from that point on... the whole intrinsic battle of yours is reflected in the lines u have written. desiring heavy hooves in my back/ pin me beneath haunches... gives a very disturbing picture of you becoming what u don't want in a very gruesome way, a touch of schizophrenia perhaps. the following stanza adds on to that.
one more point there... quarter goddess and quarter cow... what about the remaining half?
i also didnt quite get the para starting with "Stripped to my barest components..." i suppose u are trying to say how minotaur daddy made u a bit like him and left u alone and confused. If thats the message, its a strange way of getting your point thorough. didnt quite get what the pit, lions and linen represent.
and the first half... u paint a scary picture!! believe me. Its a lesson in imagery for any poet. Great powerful words! I read that a lot of times to just grind into myself how good can imagery get while writing poems!
At the end of it all. I guess the poem was a bit of a rant. Its just your skill that made it so much better than a poem i would have puked out after a gulp of tequila!!!
Good to read pie!
Cheers and happy new year
HM
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Hi, HM. It's always nice to hear your thoughts-- I appreciate your honest analysis. I'm from a cattle-producing region of the US, and a lot of the language of this poem is steeped in my knowledge of cattle, as well as in mythology.
To clarify-- a steer is another word for a bull, so the line is "steer head black"-- the minotaur's head is black.
On the quarter goddess, quarter cow, I was implying that the speaker is half human-- a child of a minotaur father and a human woman would be half human. I wanted to hint because I am focusing on the strange nature of the speaker.
Schizophrenia is a little strong to describe someone who wants something, but doesn't want it at the same time. Haven't you ever wanted something that you knew was bad for you?
You are right-on about the minotaur-daddy leaving me alone and confused. The rest of that, again, is reference to history and mythology-- the pit can be the bull-fighting ring, the Roman arena, or the taurobolium, a place of ritual sacrifice in which a bull's blood is dumped on an acolyte. Pit sums up all three of those places without me having to use a word like "taurobolium." The goddess Cybele drove a chariot pulled by lions, and again, the Roman arena usually features lions. And finally, the red linens are the red flags waved at bulls-- and linens are also red after a virgin has been de-flowered on them.
I crammed a lot of ideas into a few lines. Hope that helps. Yes, the poem, as so many of mine are, was a rant as well.
I like tequila too.
Cheers,
Lauren
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