Poetry Archive

The Horse in the Bay Window

A pale wooden
horse stands in
a bay window
bereft of rockers
unshod hooves
forfeit of
dignity in a
retirement come
too soon.

Its cracked legs
and blanched hide
protest the snarling
certitude of time
yet it conjures
all the races
run and won
dreams galloping
eternally in the
gusty winds of
fertile minds
skedaddling
across reckless
playrooms.

In silent repose
fine dust coating
pale brown eyes
it longs for
the carpentry and
paint of renascence
for blessed leaps
into the saddle
the pull of fanciful
reins the
quickening pace
of a stampeding
child escaping
menace.

But its rescuers
arrive in cars
saddlebags filled
with cell phones
laptops credit
cards mutual funds
and made-up minds
their appraising
eyes calculating
the value of
antiquity not
the endless
motion hours
loose upon the
mind’s wind-
whipped prairie.

A pale horse
waits bereft
of riders
unbridled put
to pasture in
a bay window
it dreams of
the grip of
3-year-old
legs the slap
of small hands
the laughter
of innocent
hearts.

          Terry Bacon

 

 

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