The Rain In Spain Falls Mainly On The Bullring

I read 'Trimms' guide to bullfighting, as you do,
don't feel sorry for the bull, critics in the queue,
half a ton of muscle bearing down on poor you,
he'd take a few with him, dignity, revenge, honour too.

There was no rain, nothing postponed before lockdown; 
the kill was swift, El Cordobes, best man in town,
I know, long gone but indelible in red and brown,
better than El Boluses, who was just a clown.

Dragged out of the west gate, awarded the ears,
not like an often bad fight with boos and jeers,
they stood to one side now, because of their fears,
gone were the old days, good straight thrust, no tears.

M'lady, the ears are for you, listen, love me tender,
now we can get together in your fancy hacienda.