(Cowboy with Parkinson's Disease-Alberta-1931)
One night I saw a wild horse pound the earth
as thunder saddled up astride the sky,
electric lariats lashed storm at birth
and bound the bolting clouds to try and tie
them shut—corralled before the rain could fall.
Yet downpour stung like whips; hooves sparked and crashed
with torrents. Spit spumed lips, eyes crazed where crawl
of fears washed flanks; mane’s waves in neon flashed.
Soon clouds ran on and cleared air’s trail for stars.
and morning came—that pioneer of day—
The chestnut blazed to badlands very far
from bucking storm, that other bronco stray;
but in my skin the stallion’s never gone.
What kicks will kill. It's me it kicks upon.
Glenn Bagshaw
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-three-horses-2/
