I wrote this just now. Hope you like it. C.A.
Bedroom Wall Posters
When I was little, I wanted to become
a mustang -- one of the riotous few
imprisoned only by quake, famine,
or storm. Which beast, I wasn't sure --
bay or black, grey or Paint, Palomino
or albino, but never the Appaloosa.
(Each time I spied a spotted coat,
I was again unhinged by shapes,
soon lost in the torturous world
of counting). I could almost hear
the group sound -- pounding hooves
touching earth, any earth, be it cracked,
craving desert or muddy, saturated
marsh. In one shot, they violently
beach-galloped, spattering waves
and sand, wind-swept, scattered
and strange. Yes, their joy was dirty.
He, the stallion, seemed bloodthirsty.
Cartoonlike, half-black and huge,
his eyes rolled back. On the edge
of the lid, he was slightly showing
a wild, white moon sliver. The silvery,
hot, inimitable foam of horse sweat
simmered all over him, and deep down,
I knew that in his time, in between
war and calm, he’d seen hundreds
of humans.
C.A. MacConnell
