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Apr 24
John had a horse,
Her name I can't recall.
She'd weave but nothing ailed,
something not right with her.
The whites of her eyes
flashing all the time.
Like those cd's strung out
to ward off the sparrows.
She'd take a mint from you
then drop it in the straw.
She knocked him down once
whilst he tacked her up.
Then turned back to her haynet
as if she'd just broken wind,
instead of Johns ribs.
She could only be shod
if the weather was fine.
Father said she needed
taking out behind barn.
He called her Chappie.
Flat backed and dead mouthed,
Tendency to *****.
You couldn't get her in a trailer
without a board and whip
and plenty of hands.
She wasn't afraid
just backward in her ways.
She'd stand for the farrier?
If the sun shined
like I say,
No trouble at all.
Ex race horse John claimed
but who knows.
Aren't they all?
Mother made him ring
up to the house
if he was tacking her out.
She feared she'd throw him
Leave the old **** for dead.
She was head shy and I think
John did it to her.
I never saw him raise a hand
but he knew the bottom
of plenty of bottles.
Hid 'em in a welly boot.
Imagine getting up on that beast
when your too drunk
to find your ****?
Madness.
The pair of them.
She never gave me pause
but I was small then.
They know, don't they?
Work in progress
Harriet Maguire
Written by
Harriet Maguire  England
(England)   
51
   Fawn
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