It wasn’t Pamplona.
It wasn’t teeming with people.
There were no drunks
(well, other than my neighbors who watched from their porch)
There were no medics.
There was only one rocket
(the “rocket launcher” forgot to send up the other three)
There was only one “bull”
There were two runners
But only one of them didn’t wet her pants a little from laughing.
Last year, on this day, I would have said nothing was better
Than scampering away from those Spanish toros
On those cobblestone streets
An ocean away
With a bunch of clumsy, machismo-ites.
This year … I don’t know …
I think we gave last year a run for its money.