A poem now and then #3 Horse.

I am and have been all my life, a performing circus horse.

And I’ve learnt well the tricks of my trade.

The raising and lowering of my head on command.

The toss of my mane.

And the reward that always comes…that pat on the head.

That lies when it says I am accepted and ‘a good boy’.

That pat on the head that is supposed to make up for the cruelty of it all.

 

See me trot, see me rear.

Whisper manipulations in my ear.

Everything that you believe I want to hear.

See me gallop and take the jump

Finest hay then sugar lump.

All on cue.

Right on course

this fine, obedient,

performing horse.

 

This horse has patience.

From a line well-bred.

Nothing changes.

I want you dead.

 

IFH.