The Horse, To His Ex-Girlfriend
You always had a temper,
so when you wheeled around
and screamed that
after all this sowing of wild oats
I’d now be eating them, forever,
I should have known.
I ducked behind the table
but not quite quick enough –
one huge itch all over
and I had a coat, which
when I swung my lengthening head to look,
was conker brown and sleek,
and went quite well, I noticed,
with your aubergine colour scheme.
A stinging swell like haemorrhoids
became a tail. Next the aching ascent
of ears you’d found too hairy as it was.
Then I pitched forward, landing
on hooves as hard and wide as flat irons,
each elbow now a knee.
Once I’d worked out which foot went first
I trotted through the hall,
thinking to follow you, perhaps apologise
with a nuzzle and a mournful look
from my brand-new limpid eyes.
You’d gone.
Even then, I would have been content
with sweet hay and a corner of the yard.
But then your parting gift arrived,
sapling-thick and heavy
as a sack of bricks between my thighs.
Forget the saddle they later threw across my back.
This is what weighs me down,
swings like a wonky pendulum,
sticks out at awkward times, and chafes.
But worse, these careless girls in jodhpurs
stare, then laugh and laugh.
October 2002
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