Christopher was a bull,
Or at least had been, it seemed,
In some other lifetime.
Or sometimes just remembered,
The way you did it was to hit the wall
With everything you had.
It was really very simple,
You just hit that wall with everything you could muster.
That was the joy of it.
On those rare occasions when
The wall didn’t simply crumble,
Or, after more than enough times when it did,
It all started to get boring.
He started to think of angles of approach,
Of quantities of force.
He started to think of finesse,
Tough thoughts for a bull.
After a while he noticed more walls
Not crumbling with the very vision,
With the abstract chance,
With the solitary, remote possibility
Of his approach.
Thoughts more difficult still,
For a Bull.
After a while of that,
He noticed he was spending a lot of time thinking
Of angles, planning the force of impact,
And fewer walls came crumbling down.
VERY tough realizations,
For a Bull.
He started calling, and thinking of himself,
He started wearing neckties, polishing his shoes.
He was polite, sort of.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to advertise
He was a bull, at all.
Then one day,
Looking at an uncrumbled wall,
He thought: “What’s with this ‘Christopher’ thing?
I just want to bust down some walls!”
And what do you know!
That’s exactly what happened!
The walls started crumbling down again!!
He figured he would handle the problem of “boring”
The same way he did with any other wall.
Head on, with everything he had!
He was a Bull,