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Poetry competition: Track work

September 19, 2015



Hooves beat on tarseal, head held high

In the dark early morning quietude

Treads the horse with her minder


With just the odd streetlight for company

And the creeping neighbourhood cats

Staring and darting under fences

Pretending to an unfounded fear.


Today he is short with the horse

And jerks on the rope sporadically

Because he is cold and tired –


But the horse leans in to him

Gradually shoving him into the roadside

Legs like dancing pistons, playful and excited

Yearning to be out, running and free.


The boy looks up into her chestnut-fringed eyes

And sees the friendly, feisty spirit

That gives each day its refreshing mystery.


It’s never the same, this walk to the track

Different moods are gradually buffed

To something more joyful and binding

And two become one in spirit and walking autumn horse


This isn’t the reality of the nine to fivers

That the boy thinks live in blandness, like

A grey carpet that stretches for miles.


It is a magic walk before the town wakes

To a day spoiled by revealing light

And people go about their quotidian tasks.


© Paula McCool (2015)


From → Competitions

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