Rusty (a poem)

Today’s entry.

This horse is a rickety one
hard to control
weaving and wobbling
from one side of the trail
to the other
constantly stopping
for no apparent reason

The horse must sense something
that I cannot
Whatever it is
he’s not saying anything to me about it
I’m tempted to get off and walk
the rest of the way
Oh, he’d like that, wouldn’t he!

All the whisperers
have already gone home
so it’s just the two of us—
me and the wobbling horse
on a long, wobbly trail
and at least a couple of hours
before we get home

(4 June 2017)

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