Bad horse.

Imagine if you were dumb enough
to get fit with a bit and tether, too
- and reins and saddle, all such kit,
and rid on your back by a purposeful
sadist fool whose only thought wasn't you.

So in well-heeled spurs, your sides take kicks
- and hard-struck rider's crop, behind
to sow in speed
and reap the wind -
and aim your head
in streaming mane
towards what you cannot find,
without
such guidance brute.

Are you sure this
is the surest route?

As flanks slick wet
with sweat
and foam
and breath cuts
knives in grinding lungs,
as legs beat times
whole long ways home.

Well,
if that stupid beast was you,
that biting bit - your horse's mouth
of truth did not deserve such
treatment,
true.

So are
you so put-out? So lost
for words? Or are those words
a loss?
Spit bit!
That metal gag's not truly there.
Hold head up, give a toss

and stamp that best front hoof
hard down. And tell the rider, thanks
for much
of showing me how hard I ride,
but

yours is not my race to run,
and I'm the one your ribbons crown
with such vain pride. I think

I'll go my own way, now. Oh, whoa.

This neigh means nay, ex-pard.
Don't touch.

This home was not
stable enough.