I stopped off at the bank to say
'how are you' to the folks who try
their hand at the day care of my
dollars and the quarters of my pay
I pushed back on a tall gray day,
the clouds swirl by in the lead gray sky
and I fly over the dry sand ox bow
that runs and twists in a necklace below
next, by a purring Toyota, its light
glowing blank at a barn wall looking glass
Unclip and the gate still open in hind sight,
and I am through onto the grass
no paint, no sorrel no grizzled grey hinnie,
I walk through the trees tracking the sandy scuff
out and up and across the overlook bluff.
I hoot n call but never a whinny
There's a house there with a good wire fence
The trail turns east over the rough brush heath
and on and on and across to a fence,
worn neatly down to a barbed wire wreath
and across more brush with a fresh hoof print
til the track grows faint but never a hint.
And I stoop where nobody sees me in repose
thankful a handkerchief wipes more than noses,
So back in a sweaty shirt
to the tree line, and there are the horses
fresh hoof tracks on the truck
where donkey and goat flirt.
bowls of grain and sweet feed to make amend,
a handful of wafers to lighten the offering
And I brush off what the fly spray left me
of dead on the back of my old friend
And I comb out his handsome mane,
and pull out his short gold tail
and throw up the heavy brown saddle
and think again of my good fortune
the pretty leather saddle
This time though he stop
and consider his options,
press on through the scary wind break
where turkeys are known to run in conniptions
giving the evil eye to the pile of hay netting
the field gate that groans in the wind.
landlord's engine spinning quietly
the lights burning where nobody looks
Just a word or two, and we are galloping back,
easier to urge when returning to the friendly herd,
And off to the west where the house that's for sale is
and past the dead mans duck pond,
home is where the lunch is,
and another perfect holiday.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
Once more this year I lure my little horse
to step the trailer's high unstable place:
a squishy, soft and noisy, tingling force
on hooves, accustomed to a solid base.
Off sand and dirt and even welcome grass,
step up he surely will, since I can bring
remembrance in his horsy mind to pass:
the snack before, and on his haunch a sting.
So up he flies to ride the road with me
to set a hoof into the jamboree.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
It was long years ago, I took the fifteenth day
to suffer hour on hour, the usual way:
Deduce the bottom line in dollars, even cents.
It makes no sense, no sense.
And even worse the guilty pang -
The overwhelming sturm und drang
that one day soon, the pinstripe suit,
the man that makes my machinations moot
will tap tap tap on my metaphorical door
and I will be at liberty no more!
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC